


2020 ficlets and tumblr prompts

by ohjustpeachy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 33,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohjustpeachy/pseuds/ohjustpeachy
Summary: All of the little things I've written over this year!
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	1. this love won't break your heart

“You don’t think the Gatsby theme is a little too on the nose?” Rhodey asks wryly, appearing out of nowhere at Tony’s side. 

He hands Tony a drink, an extra-dry martini, and raises an eyebrow. 

Tony nods his thanks and shrugs. “2020, roaring twenties, it seemed easy, even if it’s stupid. People seem to be having fun, so.” He gives another shrug. 

The theme never mattered to him. A new year was enough of a theme, if you asked Tony, but the party planners always thought otherwise and he was happy enough to listen to them.

“ _You’re_ not having fun,” Rhodey points out. “At _your_ party. Do you even know these people?” Rhodey makes a show of scanning the room, raising a hand and waving to Natasha across the room. “I can spot maybe _three_ people we know here.”

“Some of them, sure. Most of them from years ago.” Tony takes a sip of his drink. “Extra dry. You did good, honey bear, thank you.”

“Sure, Tones. But you know what I meant. Throwing this whole elaborate… _thing_ , when the only person you want to be with has been moping on a couch the whole night. Alone, I might add. You two deserve each other, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t… I don’t… I’m not _moping_ ,” Tony splutters. 

“Didn’t say _you_ were, I said Steve was. Did say you weren’t having fun, though, and you didn’t argue that point. Do yourself a favor, Tony. Or better yet, do _me_ a favor, and just talk to him. Gatsby didn’t have a happy ending, if I remember correctly. Your green light, American Dream, _whatever_ , is right there. Just talk to him.”

“Are we good with the metaphors? I’ll give my drink back if it’ll make you stop,” Tony says, but there’s no venom in his words. 

Rhodey’s right, of course. He’s _always_ right. 

*

When Rhodey finally gives up and takes his English lesson elsewhere, Tony makes his way up to the roof to clear his head. _Gatsby_ _._ He is _not_ doing all this as an excuse to talk to Steve _,_ ortoloosen them both up with fancy, Prohibition-era drinks, and finally make a move.

He’s a genius, but he’s just not that smart. 

His subconscious might be, though. 

Tony sighs heavily, lowering himself into one of the chairs he keeps up there for exactly this reason, when a voice interrupts him, making his blood rush, ice cold then blazing hot, through his veins. 

“That’s a world-weary sigh for the start of a new year. New decade, even,” Steve’s voice says from behind him. Tony can hear the shy smile in it and wants to kick himself for knowing this man so well, when he isn’t really his to know. 

“Ah, just taking a break, Cap,” Tony says, gesturing for Steve to take a seat beside him. 

“Great minds,” Steve says. He sits, and his foot starts tapping to no particular rhythm. “It’s crazy down there. Do you even know half these people?” 

Tony rolls his eyes, hearing Rhodey’s voice asking the same question just an hour earlier. “Seems to be the question of the night,” Tony mutters with a huff. “Some of them,” he acquiesces, when Steve gives him a quizzical look. “Rhodey was asking the same thing.”

Steve gives a little hum of acknowledgement. “Well, it’s almost the new year, and I didn’t think you should spend it alone, but I can go, if you’d rather… be alone,” Steve finishes lamely, his eyes going unsure in the dim rooftop lighting.

“Is it that late already?” Tony says, because he has to say something, and he’s not ready for _please stay_ , just yet.

Steve pulls out his phone and holds it up. “11:58.”

Rhodey’s voice comes back to him again. _He’s right there. Just talk to him._

“And you can… you should…stay,” Tony says, pulling in a deep breath. “Rhodey says I should stop having parties for hundreds of strangers when I only really want to be with one person,” he says quietly, feeling Steve go still beside him. It’s cold out on the roof, and so silent Tony worries that Steve can hear his heart threatening to give out in his chest.

“Oh.”

“I came up here, like a chicken, but, it turns out, the one person I wanted to see found me anyway,” Tony finishes, finally turning to see if Steve looks ready to let him down gently or to throw a swing or, just maybe… _happy?_

Before either of them can say anything, fireworks light up the sky, so close Tony feels like he can reach out and touch one. This is it. A new year. He’s either going into it reeling from the biggest mistake of his life, or… 

When he looks down again, Steve is standing, his hand outstretched. Tony wouldn’t be getting punched, at least. He takes Steve’s hand and stands, letting Steve pull him up, and then in, until they’re centimeters, rather than feet apart, and god, Steve would _definitely_ hear his stupid, good for nothing heart now, even with the boom of the fireworks engulfing them. 

“Happy new year, Tony,” Steve says, quietly. Tony only has a second to realize that they’re still holding hands, but then it doesn’t matter, not even a little, because Steve’s lips are on his, soft and tentative and he’s so _warm_ against the January night, that Tony clutches onto him, he kisses him back, and he makes a promise to thank Rhodey later, _much_ later, because right now he’s kissing Steve, and this is, no matter what happened from here on, the best year of his life.

“Happy new year, Steve,” Tony says when they break apart. He’s sure he’s smiling hard enough to split his face in half, but he isn’t sure that matters, either. “I’m glad you stayed.”


	2. just what the doctor ordered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: injured tony being upset about not being able to do whatever he needs to do (you pick!) and steve just being endless caring and helping him and assuring him he's not useless even though he feels it

Steve walks into the kitchen just as Tony drops a full pot of pasta to the floor with a shouted curse, glaring down at the mess like it might just fight back. ****

“Sweetheart,” Steve offers, quietly.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tony repeats when he looks up to see Steve in the doorway, looking at him almost sadly. “Don’t give me that look,” he mutters as Steve’s eyes go soft. He knows Steve can see it, how this one thing, this one mess was almost enough to land him on the floor right along the rapidly drying spaghetti. It was exhausting, doing nothing all the time. Not being able to fight or tinker or even _boil water_ and make his husband, who was out doing things, a nice dinner to come home to. 

_Useless_ is a not a word associated with Tony Stark, and the reality of these feelings are hitting him even harder than he’d expected.

“What? I’m not looking at you at all,” Steve says innocently, pointedly looking away from both Tony and the mess on the floor. 

At this, Tony cracks just the beginning of a smile, though emotion burns hot and bright at the back of his throat; Steve always could make him smile at the most ridiculous things. 

“That’s a little better,” Steve says with a smile of his own, though he quickly glances away. “Not that I’m looking,” he adds. How does he do it? Make Tony feel better with a few looks and a smile, when all he wants to do is wallow in his despair, just this once. 

Tony takes the opportunity to sink down to the floor anyway, heaving a sigh. He needs to clean up his mess, though he isn’t sure how he’s supposed to do that, either, with one arm still largely immobile. Before he can contemplate this further, though, Steve joins him on the cold kitchen tile, inordinately expensive and, Tony was learning quickly, ridiculously uncomfortable to sit on. Steve looks comically large, crouched next to the legs of the table, legs stretched out in front of him like a child. 

“So, how was your day?” He asks, benignly. 

Tony snorts. “Oh, _wonderful_. I did a whole lot of nothing, followed by some TV watching, and then I had a near breakdown over some spilled pasta.” He hears himself, how pathetic and self-involved his sounds, but everything seems to be catching up to him at once. He’s done resting. He works with his hands. He flies, creates, _loves_ with his hands. He needs both of them to be worthwhile, and right now, he isn’t. He knows he doesn’t have to say any of this out loud to Steve, so he doesn’t. He just turns and looks at him, long and sad and doesn’t force himself to turn his head and hide the frustration he knows is simmering in his gaze. 

“Just what the doctor ordered, then,” Steve points out.

“I wanted to make you dinner,” Tony says quietly. “I should be able to boil water and make you _dinner_.” He glares at the pasta caked to the floor again, but Steve distracts him by taking Tony’s good hand in his, lifting it to his lips. 

“I’d tell you it still looks delicious but I think you’d divorce me,” Steve teases, his breath warm on Tony’s skin. He holds Tony’s hand carefully, kisses each finger, then turns his hand over and traces the lines of his palm, his fingers ghosting over Tony’s, warm and sure.

“Never,” Tony sighs, the fight going out of him. 

“I’m holding you to that,” Steve says with a smile, returning his gaze to Tony’s. He’s still holding his hand, cradling it in his lap now. “You’re going to be okay, Tony,” he says quietly. “You just need time to heal, that’s all; before you know it you’ll be back out there with us, or down in the lab staying up way too late using that giant brain of yours to make the rest of us better.”

“I just hate feeling so useless.” There. He said it out loud; his worst fear. 

“You’re far from useless, sweetheart. Your arm is out of commission but the ideas? The love and the care and the things that make you, _you?_ Are all still right here.” Steve taps Tony’s chest lightly. 

Tony stares at him like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Three years of marriage and he still sometimes feels like he’s waiting for Steve to realize he can do better that the mess that is Tony Stark. The way he’s looking at him right now though… it solidifies for Tony all over again that Steve’s really and truly here to stay. 

“I mean it,” Steve says, like he can somehow see into Tony’s soul. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m way too old to sit down here much longer. My bones aren’t built for this. What do you say we get up, clean this up, and make dinner… together?” 

Tony nods, exhaling in a way that’s calming, feeling lighter than he has since he’d been thrown from a building, landing with a sickening _crunch_ and shattering his right elbow. 

“Together sounds good,” Tony says, and let’s Steve pull him to his feet. 

Together sounds very, very good. 


	3. call me beep me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: video calling someone because they miss them

Steve’s almost relieved when his phone vibrates on his nightstand; it gives him something to do that isn’t rolling back and forth on the too big, too empty bed and punching his pillow for the millionth time, praying for sleep. Tony had left that morning for Malibu, his first business trip since they’ve been married, and Steve isn’t coping as well as he might have hoped. 

When Steve fumbles for the phone, he smiles, frustration and exhaustion melting away at the appearance of Tony’s face on the screen. It’s midnight in California, he knows, which means Tony probably can’t sleep, either. 

“My husband!” Tony says warmly when Steve answers. His voice is fond, but tired, too, Steve can tell, and even though it’s mostly dark in Tony’s room, Steve can just make out the crinkly lines at the corners of his brown eyes as he smiles at him. “You’re awake,” Tony says, but there’s a certain lack of surprise in his voice that makes Steve’s heart ache. 

“I’m awake,” Steve repeats quietly, rolling onto his back. “Did you call hoping I’d be asleep?” He’s just teasing, but there’s a piece of him that wants to hear it, hear Tony say that he misses him, that he, too, keeps rolling over and hating the cool, empty side of the bed more with every toss and turn.

“No. No, I guess I hoped you’d be up too,” Tony admits. “Even though it’s… god, three in the morning, I’m sorry, sweetheart. I couldn’t sleep and I thought… I wanted to hear your voice. You got me too used to this early-bedtime-and-having-a-Steve-to-cuddle thing, and now…” He trails off to yawn hugely, like just Steve’s presence, even if it’s just on a phone screen across the country, is easing some of his sleeplessness. 

Steve smiles at the admission, then yawns himself. “Look what you made me do,” he says. 

“Sorry,” Tony says with a laugh and a shrug, not sounding sorry at all. “I miss you.” It’s so quiet, so matter of fact, and Steve feels something inside him soften and relax completely. Of course Tony missed him too, they’re _married_ , it’d been silly to think otherwise, but…

“I miss you too,” Steve confesses, just as quietly. He rolls onto his side, propping Phone Tony up on his side of the bed, and for a moment it’s okay, it’s like Tony’s right there beside him where he belongs. “You’re not the only one used to a certain bedtime routine,” he assures him.

“Good,” Tony exhales. “You look comfy,” he says. “I should let you sleep, it’s way later for you.”

“No, no,” Steve says hurriedly. “Not yet. Tell me about your day? How was your meeting?” 

He’s not ready for Tony to go again, not so quickly, but he can’t bring himself to ask Tony to stay on the line just to help him sleep either, though he knows he would. Steve can feel his eyes getting heavier as Tony starts talking, telling silly anecdotes about his day, the flight, the horrible board members, and he smiles, tries to stay awake for a few more minutes, but Tony’s voice is so soothing he can’t help it.

He’s on the verge of sleep when he hears Tony yawn again, his voice distant, mumbling, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

And then he’s out, just like that. 

*

In the morning, when Steve wakes up, refreshed and more ready for his husband to be home than ever, the Facetime call is still going; they’re at eight hours and counting. Steve smiles, he can only see what he assumes is the ceiling of Tony’s room, but it warms him to know that Tony couldn’t bear to hang up either.


	4. where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve brings tony home to meet his mom for the first time

“I can’t believe in a matter of hours I finally get to meet your mom. I mean, even I know Sarah Rogers is a living legend and I’ve never even met her in person.” 

Tony bounces on the balls of his feet as he says this, some combination of excitement and nerves and the two cups of coffee he’s no doubt already downed this morning, Steve thinks, fondly. 

“You’re sure you want to come?” Steve asks for what he knows is the millionth time. He stares down at his duffel bag, well-worn and stuffed, in case Tony chooses now to change his mind.

“Steve. Darling. Sweetheart. Please stop trying to get rid of me. I’m coming and I’m meeting your mom, and your old man cat, and that’s that. I mean, you met _Howard_ months ago and he’s not even _nice_.” Tony stops, looks at Steve again, then worries his lip between his teeth. “Unless you don’t want me to? Or, oh god, you don’t think she’ll _hate me_ , right? I mean, she seems cool with us, but that was just over the phone that one time so I just kinda assumed, but—”

Steve lets his bag fall to the floor with a gentle thud, guilt rising through him like a tide. He hadn’t meant to worry Tony with the question, he just wanted to be sure, that’s all. He isn’t sure how to explain it, how he knows without a doubt that his mother will adore Tony, maybe as much as Steve himself does. How he can already see her, beaming at them over dinner, peppering Tony with questions, wrapping him in a hug so tight Steve himself would feel it. 

She’d want to keep him. Steve feels this in his bones, knows it to be true because he wants to keep Tony, too. 

He leans over and brushes a thumb over Tony’s cheek. “Hey. That’s not what I meant at all, okay? I just… I’ve never brought anyone home before. Not like this, anyway. And my mom’s great, but she’s…” Steve trails off for a second, then sucks in a deep breath and takes a different approach. “And, you know, she’s probably going to put you in my bed and make me sleep on the couch, just a warning. And we’ll probably go to church in the morning, I know that might be weird for you, but…”

Steve stops himself there, because if he keeps talking he knows he’ll blurt it all out. How he wants this to be the first of many trips home together; how Sarah would be just as heartbroken as Steve if they broke up. They’re still in college, after all, he knows the odds aren’t always great. What he has with Tony _feels_ different, it always has, but what if he’s wrong? What if it’s not?

“But nothing, it’ll be amazing, Steven. As long as you want me there, I’m coming. I’m all packed. Sunday best included. If I play my cards right maybe I’ll get invited back for Christmas,” Tony says with a wink. He leans down and picks up Steve’s bag, hoisting it over his shoulder. “God, what did you pack in here, your whole _room_?”

Steve just laughs, lets Tony’s nonchalance push down some of the worry, replacing it with joy at the fact that Tony _already wants to come back_. 

“I have to study!” He defends himself. 

“It’s spring _break_ , Steve. It’s called that for a reason. Plus, we’ll be too busy for studying,” Tony wiggles his eyebrows. “I have to meet your friends. Bucky Barnes is just as famed as your mom.”

“Oh, about that, Buck’ll probably try and tell you a million stories about fights and things I did in high school, but you should just ignore those, okay? He exaggerates _a lot_ ,” Steve warns. 

Tony gives him a disbelieving look. “Please, I plan on getting _all_ the juicy stories this week. I want to know the Steve Rogers _dark side_.”

“I don’t have a _dark side_ , Tony,” Steve splutters. 

“Hm, we’ll see,” Tony replies. He leans over and threads their fingers together, pulling Steve in for a kiss, soft and lingering. “Now, come on, enough of the warnings and _what ifs_. I want to go home with you. I want to meet your family.” Tony’s eyes are round and almost pleading, begging for Steve to trust him. “I love you,” he adds.

The three words they’ve only recently started to say, to whisper, to kiss into sleep-warm skin, ease the last of the worry from Steve’s mind, and he feels his shoulders relax.

He squeezes Tony’s hand in his. “Sorry, I love you too,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Tony all but skips to the car, gleeful at the thought of seeing his home, his world beyond this campus, really, and Steve watches, his smile wide and hopeful as he follows. _Home._


	5. what love is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve knows tony loves him long before he says it out loud

Steve knows Tony loves him well before he says it out loud

he feels it when they wake up and Tony threads their fingers together, pulling Steve in and tracing soft, ticklish lines up and down his arm until he laughs, loud and uninhibited and yanks his hand back, burying his face in the soft crook of Tony’s neck

he feels it when Tony leans in and presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, so soft it’s hardly more than a breath, after he helps Steve fix his tie before press events and galas and public appearances

he feels it in the way his sweaters start disappearing with frequency, only to be found in the lab, well-worn and smelling unmistakably _Tony_ , like expensive cologne and coffee

he feels it when Tony listens, really listens, without interruption or judgment, as Steve recounts memories with Bucky, his mother, his childhood dog

he feels it in his willingness to share these long-buried pieces of himself

he feels it in the way Tony lets him be small sometimes, despite his size, curling up around him, protective and warm, when Steve has one of those days, one of those very long weeks where everything feels bad and dark and he aches for something he’ll never get back

he feels it in the ease with which they slip into the most mundane things: grocery shopping and bed making and dishes aren’t quite so mundane when you have company, he learns

he feels it in the way Rhodey pulls him aside one day, tells him he hasn’t seen his friend this happy in so long, a subtle look of warning in his eye

he feels it in the promise he makes; he’d never hurt Tony, not intentionally, not ever, and Rhodey nods like he knows

more than anything, he feels it in how safe, how grounded being with Tony makes him feel. with Tony he’s _home,_ plain and simple; he has nothing to prove, nothing to feel but the pure rush of happiness when Tony turns to him one morning, brushes their lips together and says what Steve’sfelt, what he’s known all along

_I love you_


	6. happier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt for ed sheeran's song happier. it's sad.

It’s a Thursday, the day Tony sees them. 

He’d gone from his office to the bar around the corner, a sad attempt to shake off some of the stress of the day, the week, the month. _Months,_ plural, if he’s being honest with himself, which, after a scotch or two, he’s more likely to do. 

Tony’s sitting at the bar, staring blankly at his phone, making occasional small talk with the bartender and weighing the pros and cons of calling Steve, _just to say hi_ , when he looks up, and there he is. 

_Steve_. 

It’s like looking at a mirage, because surely this perfect, beautiful, _smiling_ man can’t be real, can’t be _here_ , just a room’s distance away from Tony, who had been doing a rather diligent job of avoiding just about everywhere they’d ever gone together, since… well. 

A heaviness settles over Tony then, like his chest is filling with concrete, and he blinks a few times, still hopeful that maybe he’ll open them again and Steve will be gone and then Tony can go home, slip out the door and pretend nothing ever happened. 

Or maybe… Maybe it meant something. A sign that Tony had been wrong to end things, that he’d misread all the unhappiness, the fights, the clouded, sad gaze in Steve’s formerly bright blue eyes. He’d been wrong, and now… Now Tony could catch Steve’s eye, raise a hand, wave, slow and unsure, and Steve would come over, of course he would, he’s _Steve._ Perfect, friendly, _warm_ Steve would amble over, and it would hurt, it’d be awkward at first, but Tony would let the words tumble out. 

_I’m sorry. I made the mistake of a lifetime. I should have never let you go. I love you; I always have and I’m scared I always will._

These thoughts crash through his skull in an instant, and when Tony opens his eyes again Steve _isn’t_ gone, but it’s worse, so much worst than that: Steve isn’t _alone._

Tony feels all the air rush out of his lungs, out of the whole bar, his vision tunneling until it’s just the two of them. 

The scene unfolds before him: Steve is joined by a man with dark hair, and he’s laughing at something he says as he tucks his chair in. A real laugh, head thrown back, uninhibited and so loud it’s nearly a guffaw, a sound Steve rarely, if ever, unleashes in public. 

When was the last time Tony got to hear that laugh? 

Tony realizes he’s biting his lip when he tastes blood, metallic and tangy in his mouth, and he tries to release some of the tension he’s unconsciously holding. He sucks in a deep, shaky breath, looks away and then back again, and still they sit. The man’s hand is covering Steve’s, gently, carefully, and he’s stroking a pattern over Steve’s knuckles while they talk, probably swapping stories about their day, something delightfully boring, and it’s that, the sheer mundane domesticity of the image in front of him that hits Tony hardest. 

Casual beers and dinner and hands joined over a sticky, uneven table. 

A bright, booming laugh cutting through the noise.

Steve’s comfortable. He’s _happy_. He’s so much happier than he was just months ago that Tony almost didn’t recognize him, and he can feel his heart breaking all over again at the realization. 

_Happy._

Ironically, that’s what he told Steve, when he ended it. _I want you to be happy, Steve. And I’m not giving you that anymore_. He remembers saying it so matter of fact. So _sure._ God, why hadn’t he fought? Why hadn’t he changed or asked what he could do? What hadn’t he taken the time to _see?_

But Tony can see now. He can see Steve conferring with the brunette as the waitress approaches again, deciding on something to share. He can see Steve duck his head, laugh, meet the man’s eyes over the table, their hands still held carefully together. 

Tony sees Steve not see him at all, and he knows it’s for the best. 

Tony pays his bill, a flourish and a small stack of bills, and he thinks about Rhodey, telling him again and again that he’ll find _the one_ someday. That he’ll be happy again, he just has to be patient, he just has to _try_. 

Tony pulls his coat on and allows himself one more look before he heads back out in the freezing gray evening. But Steve’s smile is threatening to split his cheeks in two, and Tony has to turn away. Because how can he explain to Rhodey, to Pepper, to _anyone_ , that he knows what _happy_ feels like. That he’s already _had_ the one, and he sent him on his way. That his perfect, happily ever after _is_ happy now. 

Without him.

Tony lets the door bang closed behind him, leaving Steve warm and happy inside, the stinging cold of the air a relief on his skin. He starts to walk. 


	7. scout's honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Defending them when everyone seems to disagree with them.

Tony slinks through the side door, tiptoes through the kitchen, and deposits five boxes of Girl Scout cookies onto the kitchen counter. He pauses to frown at the growing pyramid before him; he’ll have to start donating them. Well, either that or send Thor back to Asgard with a new Midgardian delicacy for his friends to sample. Tony certainly can’t be expected to eat them all himself, even with the team’s help, or his doctor or would have his head on a platter. Something tells Tony that this much sugar and nougat aren’t exactly recommended for someone with a heart condition.

He hasn’t had a chance to slip away from the scene of the crime before Steve strolls into the kitchen, making a beeline for Tony. He’s chipper ( _without_ _coffee_ no less) after a run and a shower and he smells _unfairly_ good as he pulls Tony flush against him, nuzzling his face into the soft skin at Tony’s neck.

“Morning,” Steve murmurs, his voice rumbling all the way through him. He cards a hand through Tony’s hair, and he’s got one hand at the small of his back, stanced for a hug, when he spots the new boxes and laughs, long and loud.

“What!” Tony demands, squirming out of Steve’s arms and fixing him with an indignant look.

Steve chuckles again and shakes his head. “You know what. Cookies, Tony. We’re running out of places to put them. And you didn’t even get the good kind, who likes the lemon ones?”

Tony really didn’t think five more boxes would be noticeable, but apparently Captain Eage-Eye was here to blow that theory out of the water. He decides to try a different tactic, but by then, Natasha and Bruce are joining them in the kitchen.

“The lemon ones are good!”

“Which one of them got you this morning?” Bruce asks, amused. He rips open a box of Thin Mints and sets a small stack beside his coffee mug. “Thin Mints are definitely the best, by the way.”

Tony scowls at him and pretends not to think it’s cute how Steve squashes his laugh against his shoulder.

“It was Molly, if you must know, she’s neck and neck with some girl from a rival troop who kept mocking her lisp. She lost a tooth! She can’t help it! I had to buy a few more to put her over.” Tony sighs heavily.

It started a few weeks ago, when he was on his way home after a particularly grueling day of meetings. He passed a table of kids and their moms selling Girl Scout cookies, so he’d grabbed a few boxes, figuring they’d cheer him up and help them out. The only problem was that the girls grew fond him rather quickly, and it didn’t take a big kid to know that Tony Stark is just about made of cookie dough himself, and therefore had a stunning inability to tell them no.

He tried, he really did, whether Steve and Bruce believed him or not, but at the end of the day Tony figures he _has_ the money. All the cookies available would be a drop in the bucket for him, so why not help the kids win a pizza party or whatever it is?

(It’s a pizza party at the bowling alley. He knows this, of course, not that he’ll be sharing _that_ nugget of information this morning.)

“One of these days you’re going to have to break their hearts,” Nat teases, reaching over to pluck one of Bruce’s cookies. “Though I am team thin mint, there’s only so many we can reasonably consume.”

“The lemon ones are just as good!” Tony doesn’t know why he’s arguing this, really. He should just let Steve keep tracing soft circles at his hip and then lead him back to bed, to hell with the cookie debacle.

But he’s in it now, and Tony’s nothing if not stubborn.

“And the lemon ones are better for you! They’re basically a fruit. Besides, I’m going to _donate_ some of these. No heartbreaks needed.” Tony’s glare loses some of its luster when Steve presses a final, warm kiss to his neck, distracting him before looking up and clearing his throat. “I agree with Tony on this actually,” he lies smoothly. “Lemon all the way.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Nat reasons, “you’re about a hundred years old, which is the target demographic for them.”

Tony bites his lip to keep from laughing, and instead turns to face his husband, eyes dancing. “I knew you’d come around. You _do_ love me,” he says, pretending to swoon.

“Anything to end this, sweetheart,” Steve retorts just as sweetly, grabbing Tony’s hand and leading them out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

When they’re out of earshot, Steve turns to him with a lopsided grin, and says, “You’re welcome, by the way. I basically perjured myself to agree with you.”

“In a jury of Bruce and Nat, I think you’ll be forgiven,” Tony says with a roll of his eyes.

Steve gives a thoughtful hum. “I’m just glad you didn’t have any of those lemon disasters,” he says.

He kisses away Tony’s argument before it leaves his mouth.


	8. sleep a little deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony sleeps better with steve in his bed

Tony’s plane lands sometime after midnight, and by the time he arrives home, it’s well after one and he’s just about dead on his feet, his mind a quiet buzz of numbers and meetings and next steps from his weeks overseas. 

He’s too keyed up to sleep but too exhausted to start on anything new at this hour. Instead, Tony parks himself in front of the fridge, peering inside listlessly. Even this holds no appeal, though he _is_ starving. With a sigh, he grabs an apple and a glass of water and leans against the kitchen island, letting his forehead brush against the cool marble, wishing he’d had the guts to just text Steve earlier and ask him to come over, meet him at the penthouse. JARVIS has let him in plenty of times before, though lately Tony’s been toying with the idea of giving him a key, a permanent place here, with him. 

But Tony hates the idea of asking, of admitting out loud that he needs Steve like some kind of toddler with a teddy bear, that he sleeps approximately one million times better when Steve’s in his bed with him. 

_Tomorrow_ , he promises himself. Tomorrow, he’ll ask Steve to come and stay. 

Two weeks apart is really too long, anyway. 

He sighs again, then clicks the light off, leaving his suitcase right where it is in the kitchen; he can deal with it in the morning. 

By the time Tony shuffles himself from the bathroom (hot shower, eyes closed, more heavy sighs) and to the bedroom, he thinks he might just be able to sleep after all. Between the time difference and nearly ten straight days of being “on” for his investors, maybe he’ll do something crazy like sleep straight through the night. 

Tony doesn’t bother with the light, instead, he flops himself right into his bed, soft and welcoming and… not as empty as he anticipated—

“ _Steve?_ ” Tony yelps.

There’s definitely a super-soldier sized body beneath his thousand thread count sheets, even though that’s _impossible_ , Steve shouldn’t be here…Tony hadn’t asked, hadn’t reminded him that he was coming home tonight…

“Tony? You’re back,” Steve pauses to yawn, scooting himself over and holding out an arm, as if inviting Tony to curl up beneath it. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says.

When Tony just lays there, gaping at him, Steve frowns. Even in the dark, Tony can see the crease beneath his eyebrows, wonders dazedly if he’s so over-tired that he’s dreaming this, that maybe Steve isn’t here at all. 

“Are you okay, Tony?”

“I… yeah, I just wasn’t expecting you to be here? I mean… how did you know I was getting back tonight?” 

“You told me,” Steve laughs. He seems to have given up on waiting for Tony to join him, and instead rolls over to where Tony lays, propped up on his side of the bed, and wastes no time scooping him up easily and pulling him in with a contented sigh. Tony feels himself go boneless, liquid in Steve’s embrace, even as his brain struggles to catch up. 

“Yeah, but that was like… a week ago.” Tony can’t wrap his mind around this, the fact of Steve _here_ in his bed, waiting for him, like…like…

“You’ve been gone for two weeks, Tony, I wanted to see you,” Steve says with a brush of his lips to Tony’s.

“Oh,” Tony says, processing. 

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Steve laughs again, the sound followed quickly by another yawn. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, lips grazing Tony’s neck. “C’mere.” 

Tony lets himself be tugged in close, held gently and kissed; he kisses back. He thinks about how lucky he is, even feels himself start to relax, just a little, because _Steve_ is _here_ and they’re both _home._

“Steve,” Tony mumbles, just before he drifts to sleep for good.

“Mm?”

“Will you…stay?” He just. He has to be sure.

Steve chuckles, and Tony dares to open his eyes, taking in the soft smile on Steve’s face when he says, “Of course, sweetheart,” and hugs him, impossibly, tighter.


	9. idiots in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: Waiting outside their door all night because they had a fight

_You can stay mad at me, but I’m not going to bed upset. All the self-help books say not to, and really, far be it from me to argue with some guy’s honorary degree from an almost accredited university._

_Steve?_

_You don’t fall asleep this fast, I know you don’t fall asleep this fast!_

_Fine. I’m outside the door… you have to come out sometime._

Tony peeks at the time stamp on the last text, then at the time on his phone, and sighs. He’s in for a long night, but Steve’s worth it. Honestly, the whole thing feels a little off the wall, even for them; they fight, but they _always_ make up before bed. They’re notoriously obnoxious about it, actually, driving their respective roommates (both named James, neither amused) just about insane with their affection.

The problem was that that they could _fight_ just as hard, and they’re both stubborn enough that a simple disagreement could spiral into a battle of wills with _alarming_ ease. Tony thought this was part of their charm, but maybe he’d taken it a little too far this time, borrowing Steve’s football sweatshirts one time too many without putting them back. They just fit him so much better, and smelled like Steve… though really, Steve only asked him to wash them, it wasn’t _crazy_ …

It’s a simple request, Tony concedes in the quiet echo of the hallway. He picks up his phone again.

_I’ve decided, that in the interest of not sleeping apart, you can be right this time, and I will be more considerate of your things._

Five minutes go by with nary a sound from behind Steve’s door. Tony eyes his phone again, wonders if he could take it apart and rig it up into something useful, maybe some kind of gadget with which he could pry the door open…

But no, that’ll just land him a fine from the school and a lecture from Howard and one of those _looks_ from Steve that was clearly amused but trying hard not to be.

It’s the _cutest_ look, Tony thinks wistfully.

He’s daydreaming about ways inside the door and back into Steve’s good graces, and he must fall asleep, because the next thing he knows, Rhodey’s voice is yammering loudly, right next to his ear.

“Tony, scientists will ponder for years to come how you managed to be both the smartest and _dumbest_ kid on this campus,” Rhodey tells him, dismayed.

Tony gives him a blank look. “What? What? I didn’t… where’s Steve?”

Rhodey glowers at him. “‘Where’s Steve’ he says.” He holds out a hand, which Tony wastes no time grabbing, and leads Tony down the hall without another word.

They end up in front of their own door, where Steve is slumped, sound asleep, against the wall.

“Rogers! Up and at ‘em!” Rhodey shouts, making poor Steve pitch forward in terror, eyes flung open wide. “You two _deserve_ each other,” he says as he turns and leaves, the two of them already gazing sheepishly at each other, their fight forgotten.


	10. mystery of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt for the song mysteries of love by sufjan stevens

Steve thought they worked through the big _firsts_ in their relationship pretty early on. First kiss, first time, those were the things he’d dreamt about for months before they happened, leaving him nearly dizzy with possibility, until he was sure even _if_ they ever happened, they’d never live up to the ideals he’d built up in his head. 

It’s fair to say he was wrong on all counts. 

What Steve hadn’t counted on, however, were the little moments. Those soft, blink-and-you’ll-miss-them moments between kisses and sex, each with the ability to melt him in new and breathless ways. 

For some reason, it hadn’t exactly occurred to him that he could just… _touch_ Tony, now. Whenever he wanted and just because. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking, setting his fingertips on edge until they all but twitched with potential. He _can,_ but he hasn’t taken the leap just yet; as if when he finally reached out, Tony would vanish, gone in a puff of smoke, the whole thing some terrible dream made to torment him all along. 

He was working up to it. 

Tony didn’t seem to have the same problem, however. The first time they go to dinner, their first official _date_ , Steve can’t help but revel in the attention, the endless little touches that come with being with Tony. He’d always been affectionate, but now it’s like Steve can’t stop _noticing_ it. Tony’s hand on the small of his back, guiding him through the door. His thumb stroking across Steve’s palm on the table. The way Tony’s mouth finds the soft, sensitive spot on his ear when he leans in to whisper something quiet, something just for them. It’s all enough to drive him to distraction, and Steve spends most of the evening wondering if his face is the warm, splotchy shade of red it feels. When Tony leans in and swipes a drop of sauce off Steve’s mouth with his thumb and licks it away, Steve’d sure his heart stops, just for a minute. 

What Steve wants, though, more than anything else, is simple really. Just to reach out and take Tony’s hand in his and not let it go. To hold on because he _wants to_ , not for safety, or because their lives are at risk or the world is ending. 

Just for the simple fact that there’s no one else he’d rather tether himself to. 

By the time they finish eating and Steve asks if they can walk home, he’s convinced he’s going to do it. He just has to reach out. Tony’s been doing it all night, and for the two weeks since they’ve been together. He was going to think Steve didn’t want him after all, and _that_ couldn’t be further from true. 

The night air is breezy without being cold, and their shoulders brush with every step they take back to the tower. _Come_ on _, Rogers. You could punch nazis in the face but you can’t hold someone’s hand?_ He’s pretty sure he’s sweating, and his palm is probably clammy and gross at this point anyway… 

Steve heaves an involuntary sigh, and watches as Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Something to share with the class, Steven?” Tony asks, lightly, though Steve can see the frown of concern beneath the quip. 

“ _I want to hold your hand_ ,” he blurts, realizing immediately how ridiculous he sounds. They’re adults, they’re dating, they’ve said they _love_ each other, and Steve can’t hold his hand. God, there’s something wrong with him. 

Tony laughs, sudden and gorgeous as ever, and pulls them off to the side. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he confesses, and something about the way he says it, confessional and quiet, is enough to reassure Steve. Sure, Tony is more affectionate, more confident and tactile, but this is important to him, too. 

Relief washed through him. “Yeah?”

“ _Yeah_.” Tony smiles but doesn’t move, clearly waiting for Steve to take the lead on this, this last _first_ of the evening. 

Steve leans down, takes Tony’s palm in his, warm and callused and steady, and threads their fingers together carefully, slowly. He lets out the breath he’d been holding and looks up to find Tony beaming at him, a faint shade of pink at his cheeks as he squeezes back. 

He doesn’t let go. 


	11. lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> college au domestic fluff.

Tony spent a lot of time thinking he’d never be close enough to Steve. First, and long ago, when they started out at each other throats, fighting and sniping over nothing. He was sure he’d never get close enough to make the man see reason, to just _listen_ to him.

Then there were the months where he hardly slept a wink for laying in bed, tossing and turning and wondering how it could be possible for him to free-fall through a hole in the galaxy with ease and still be terrified, downright _paralyzed_ by the thought of Steve Rogers not loving him back.

And now. Years after all the stomach-churning uncertainty, Steve is, miraculously, still here. Still _his_. And Tony still can’t get close enough for his liking. There’s always something happening in the background, missions and business trips and small things like grocery shopping and cooking dinner and big things like saving the damn world. _Again_.

Tony wants to spend hours and days and weeks curled up beside Steve in bed, just breathing. He could lose hours watching the rise and fall of Steve’s chest beneath him, a phenomenon previously only found in the workshop somewhere after two in the morning. He wants to let Steve make him dinner and talk to him about the days in the not-so-far-if-he-has-anything-to-say-about-it future when they’ll be retired ( _or maybe consulting, Tony, I know you can’t give it up cold turkey any more than I can_ ) and happy with all the time in the world. They’d learn how to cook properly and go to farmers markets and teach at community colleges, why not?

Tony has plans for them, for their lives, and he loves to watch Steve’s face light up at the sound of them. _Maybe we can get a cat or something_ , Steve suggests one night as Tony fantasizes, laying in bed, spent and lazy as the sun starts to break through the night sky. It surprises him and he smiles; how had he not known Steve wanted a pet? _We can get a cat_ , Tony promises, rolling over and squeezing Steve’s hand tightly before dipping his face to pepper his neck with kisses.

When they come back together after time apart, Tony feels it the most. He misses Steve even as he’s standing in front of him, even as he’s wrapped in his arms in a hug that finally lets him breathe again.

_I can’t get close enough_ , Tony grouses one evening after returning home from a two week stint in Tokyo. He’s pressing his face into Steve’s chest, a cat in his own right, seeking affection, and can feel the deep rumbling laughter emanating from him.

_I’m right here, sweetheart,_ Steve tells him, tipping his chin up for a kiss that’s as soft and sweet as it is slow.

_I know. But I miss you._ Tony doesn’t know how to explain it, but the look in Steve’s eyes tells him he doesn’t have to. Instead, he lets Steve indulge him. Let’s himself be held in a hug that becomes a sway, that becomes dancing slowly, right there through their massive kitchen, no music to guide them, just the knowledge that they’re together again, even if it’s just for now. The knowledge that despite how far they travel, they’ll always come back, always have moments like this, dancing in the dark of the kitchen and knowing, knowing, _knowing,_ someday there’d be more.

Tony thinks of the ring, the velvet box pushed to the back of his drawer, and pulls Steve closer. They were so close, and he was ready to close the last bit of distance forever, for good, but for now, swaying quietly with Steve, he can almost hear the music.


	12. you kissed me first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve and tony are supposed to be discreet about their relationship. they get caught on a kiss cam instead.

The sudden ear-splitting sound of cheering nearly jolts Steve out of his seat. It signals a goal and the end of the period, and Tony leaps up with the rest of the crowd, pulling Steve toward him and into a hug. To anyone else, it’s just that, a hug celebrating a goal at the halfway point of an exciting game. But Steve knows better. He can feel the joy in the way Tony wraps his arms around him, bringing his hands to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He can feel Tony’s mouth curve into a smile that presses into his cheek as he draws him in closer, just enough that even a breath is enough to brush their lips together. Steve hates to do it, but he wriggles away when he feels Tony’s lips move ever closer to his own. **  
**

“Tony! We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile!” Steve tries to sound admonishing, but the smile that accompanies his words land him somewhere closer to fond.

They’re at a hockey game, part of Tony’s grand plan to help Steve experience everything he’d missed in his seventy years in the ice. He _had_ missed a lot, Steve could agree with him there, but he’s really more of a baseball kind of guy. ( _Not_ that he wanted to talk about his beloved Dodgers selling out and shipping across the country to California, mind you.) And besides, a room full of ice was maybe not the best date night activity for a guy like Steve Rogers, all things considered, though he couldn’t deny that Tony had made the evening more fun than he’d anticipated. 

Of course, most of that had to do with Tony’s innate ability to make nearly everything that came out of the announcer’s mouths sound dirty. A game with frequent references to _sticks_ and _getting it in_ isn’t much of a stretch for anyone, and Tony Stark knows how to cross a line and just keep going. So they’d laughed a lot, had a few beers, and sure, okay. Steve might never get tired of the way Tony wraps his arm around his shoulder when he thought no one was looking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Steve feels himself give a little thrill at the casual simplicity of it. The way their bodies pressed together in the small plastic seats, the way Tony would turn and give him a little conspiratorial smile, like they were getting away with something truly devious, just being there.

And maybe they were. Fury had told them, in no uncertain terms, that if they were going to _gallivant around_ , (his words), it had to be on their own time, and out of the public eye. Steve had nodded solemnly, but Tony had taken the warning as more of a challenge. 

So, when the cameraman makes his way to their section, Steve knows Tony won’t be able to resist it. He shakes his head at his boyfriend, giving him a pleading, warning look he knows will be ignored. And sure enough, the screens overhead switch to a Kiss Cam, and Steve knows, without Tony so much as moving a muscle, that they’re done for. Because really, there’s no way the guy wouldn’t zoom right in on them once he realized _Ironman and Captain America_ are at this game. And Tony loves to show Steve off, was nothing if not a ham for the camera himself, if he was in the mood. He’s been known to wave his arms and cheer, and, _yep_ , Steve watches the man’s eyes light up as he realizes exactly who he’s seeing. 

Tony grins as Steve groans. He can already feel his cheeks turning pink. 

“Look!” Tony points at the screen and sure enough, there they are, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers, beaming at each other in the stands. Tony has the tiniest smudge of ketchup on the collar of his ridiculously expensive shirt, and his face is turned toward Steve like a plant to the sun. Steve looks around, anywhere but at the camera, anxious and very much in love, and both of them looking, for all the world, _happy_. 

Steve blinks up at the image on the screen, at their larger than life smiles, and beams at Tony, all the hesitation melting away. He doesn’t move or try to stop Tony as he leans in and cups Steve’s face in his hands, grinning as he kisses him softly in front of thousands of people, like they’re the only ones in the stadium. 

The way Steve’s head is left spinning afterward, they might as well be. 

*

The next morning, Steve wakes up in Tony’s bed, his phone buzzing with more voicemails and missed calls than he cares to deal with, all in response to the headline of the day: 

_Captain America and Iron Man Melt Ice, Hearts, at Islanders/Rangers Game_

They’d have to deal with Fury, and the team, and probably sign a million agreements not to burn the world down together, but for now, Steve rolls back over, pulls Tony in close, and thinks, _worth it._


	13. why me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> winteriron + age difference

“Why me?” Tony asks quietly one night as they lay in bed. His tablet is laying on his chest, ignored, and Bucky sets his book aside at the question, eyebrows furrowing.

“What do you mean, why you? I love you, that’s why.”

“I mean, you could have just about anyone, look at you. I’m hardly a spring chicken. I’m barely in my right mind half the time, depending who you ask. I just… I don’t know, I’m past my prime and you’re in it. I wouldn’t want to hold you back from what you want.”

Bucky stares at him, not unused to these moments from Tony, but coming to understand how to soothe them.

“You’re what I want, sweetheart,” he says. Tony blinks at him.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that right?”

Bucky laughs. “Doll, have you _looked_ in a mirror lately? So are you. Nat says you’re way outta my league, but she’ll kill me if she finds out I told you that. She said it’ll go to your head.”

It’s Tony’s turn to laugh now, low and quiet, and Bucky revels in the sound of it.

“Come here, old man,” Bucky says fondly, threading his fingers through Tony’s hair, silver in places but just as soft as ever. He watches as Tony’s face relaxes at the touch, until his eyes don’t look so pinched at the corners, and he curls himself in around Bucky like he belongs there.


	14. the flu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt for tony taking care of steve when he gets sick for the first time out of the ice

  * Tony finds Steve on the third day of his illness, when he’s laying in bed feeling both too hot and too cold, wondering how this is still happening to him. He’s been downing cold and flu medicine for three days, though it didn’t seem to be doing anything more than making him sleepy and disoriented. 

When he hears the knocking at his door, Steve manages to drag himself up and out of bed, the room spinning as he walks. He has to grip onto the doorframe when he opens the door and finds Tony, his face clouded with worry, waiting on the other side. 

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony says, relief clear in his voice. He doesn’t seem to mind his ratty clothes, sweaty face, or pale cheeks, and instead grabs Steve in a tight hug, pulling him in hard and close before pulling away and looking Steve up and down. 

“I knew something was wrong, you never miss a debrief. Fury thought I’d corrupted you. Don’t worry, I told him Captain Good Behavior was impervious to my wiles,” Tony reassures him. 

Steve feels his stomach plummet, disbelief or nausea, he isn’t sure. “I missed debrief? God, I’m sorry. Let me just get dressed, and…” Steve whirls around so quickly he loses his footing and almost trips, Tony grabbing his hand just before he hits the ground. 

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there, big guy. It’s all good, we covered for you. You’re not going anywhere, except back to bed. And maybe into the shower,” Tony says, still holding onto Steve’s hand. “Can you tell me how long you’ve been feeling bad?” 

Steve thinks, his head pounding. “Um. A few days?” How had he managed to lose track of time so severely that Tony had to come and find him? He hates the idea of losing control so completely, not to mention being seen like this.

Something about being sick always brought Steve back to his pre-serum days in Brooklyn. His Ma and Bucky peering over him, faces pinched with worry. He could read the question in their eyes every time, though he pretended otherwise. _Would this be it? The cough or the flu or the cold that took him from them?_ He knew it because he wondered himself, every time, and then forced himself to fight it, however he could, to stop it from happening. He couldn’t leave them, not yet. There was so much more still to do. 

But then the impossible happened, and Steve outlived both of them, lost Bucky and then found him again, became a superhuman no one thought could even _get_ sick, let alone catch a brutal, super-soldier version of the flu every winter like clockwork. 

“A few days,” Tony repeats. “Can I just…” He reaches up, brushes the hair away from Steve’s forehead, and lets his palm rest there, feeling for fever. Steve leans into the cool, soothing touch of Tony’s hand and nearly groans.

_God, it feels good._

He must say it out loud, because Tony pulls away and looks at him. 

“That’s because you have a fever,” he says, voice going soft. “You’re burning up. I’m going to run a bath and then call Bruce, alright? See if there’s anything you can take for this that’ll actually help. DayQuil isn’t it,” Tony adds before Steve can argue. 

Steve just nods, relief sweeping through him so acutely he feels weak with it. He grips Tony’s hand and lets himself be led to the bathroom, where Tony fits the stopper into the drain and runs the water, helping Steve off with his clothes and into the lukewarm water. 

“You don’t need to do all this, Tony. I’m going to be fine,” Steve says, regretting the words even as they leave his mouth. He _will_ be fine, he knows that much is true. The serum would make sure of it, but it’s not like he wants Tony to leave, either. His head is still pounding, his throat is heavy and thick, and the fever is making him more emotional than he cares to admit. To top it all off, he’s pretty sure there’s no food in his kitchen.

“I know you are,” Tony says, grabbing a washcloth and carefully running it over the length of Steve’s back and chest, washing away the grime and germs of three days in bed with the flu. The warm water feels _heavenly_ , and Tony is looking at him with the kind of loving concern he hasn’t felt in nearly a century, and Steve feels his eyes prick, burning with the threat of tears. Sickness always did this to him, and apparently the serum hadn’t changed _that_ either. “Doesn’t mean you have to be alone in the meantime. We can talk about you not telling me you were sick when you’re in better shape,” Tony winks. 

“M’sorry,” Steve says quietly, his voice raspy. “This isn’t supposed to happen anymore.”

“I know,” Tony says, leaning over to turn the water off. “You’re an anomaly in every sense, Steve Rogers.” 

Steve just shivers in response, the loss of the warm water leaving him cold, a reminder of how chilly and achy and _alone_ he’s been, these last few days. 

“Here, let’s get you dried off and into some warm clothes,” Tony says, handing Steve two over-sized towels before helping him up and out of the tub. By the time they walk from the bathroom to Steve’s room and into a new set of clothes, he’s exhausted all over again, sinking onto the bed with a sigh. 

“Don’t fall asleep just yet, okay? I have soup on the way, from that deli you like,” Tony tells him. “And Bruce is coming up to check on you. He says he has something you can take, but I don’t think it’s wise on an empty stomach.” 

Steve nods, but his eyes threaten to close when Tony joins him on the bed, one arm around his waist, the other carding a hand through his hair, still damp from the bath. He might have fallen asleep, too, had it not been for the knock on the door, perfectly timed with the delivery man and Bruce arriving at the same time. 

Steve lets Bruce poke at him, take his temperature with a thermometer (an _electric_ one, nothing like the glass and mercury ones his ma had), and mutter with Tony about prescriptions and strengths and dosages. It’s quiet, and Steve only catches about half of the conversation, but for the first time, he feels like he can relax, sure he’s in good hands. Tony wouldn’t let the world end without him, Steve knows. 

One more sick day might not be the worst thing. 

When Bruce leaves, Tony sets them up with a pile of blankets on the couch, letting Steve settle in against his chest as he plies him with soup and tea. He listens carefully as Steve mumbles about things his ma and Bucky would do when he was sick. Tony just listens without interruption as Steve walks down memory lane in a way he never lets himself when he’s well. 

“They took great care of you,” Tony says quietly when Steve talks himself out. “I have big shoes to fill.” 

Steve’s throat goes tight at his words. How could he tell Tony that he hated being this way, sick and needy and feeling smaller than he had in years? That the only person he could imagine letting in when he was feeling this way is right beside him? Things were different now, medicine and thermometers, but Steve still feels so much the same. 

“You’re already filling them,” Steve says simply. 

*

It’s a long night, and Steve has horrible dreams every time he falls asleep. He’s always falling, always losing someone, his mother or Bucky or Tony, or running until he can’t breathe, unable to stop. 

When he wakes up, gasping and sweaty, Tony’s there, in bed beside him, looking at him with love and worry in his eyes as Steve clutches onto him, apologizing. 

“Don’t be sorry, sweetheart” Tony reassures him. “You’re okay. It was just a nightmare. The medicine can’t be helping those, I’m sorry about that. I think I should change the sheets, though, okay?” 

Steve realizes they’re damp with sweat and just nods, too tired to be embarrassed, letting Tony strip the bed and cover it with fresh, soft sheets that feel blissfully good against his skin. He drifts back to a fitful sleep, half draped across Tony’s chest while he reads on his tablet, the steady rise and fall of Tony’s chest steadying him, reminding him that he’d be better soon, that when he woke up, for better or worse, Tony would still be there. 

He sleeps until almost ten the next morning, something he hasn’t done in years and years. When Steve blinks awake, still bleary and congested, but feeling just a little better than he had the previous day, the bed is empty. Steve’s heart sinks, and as he lays there, it comes back to him in waves: Tony knocking on the door, the emotional rollercoaster of being cared for, Bruce and the medicine, the nightmares. 

_God_. He’d be lucky if Tony wanted to see him again after all that. Steve shakes his head and drags himself into the shower, hoping to rinse away the remains of the fever, the long night, and the embarrassment that seemed to be seeping from his pores. 

To his surprise, though, Tony _is_ still there when he walks into the kitchen, shower fresh and a little unsteady on his feet. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Tony says. On the counter is a bag of bagels from the place around the corner, and two cups of coffee is cardboard cups. “Tea for you, baby boy.” Tony hands him the cup with a smile, then leans over to brush a kiss to his forehead, softly checking for the remains of last night’s fever. “Ah, much better. Brucie’s miracle medicine seems to be doing the trick. Though, another day on the couch might be in the cards, too.” 

Steve manages to smile, ducking his head. “Thank you, Tony. You really didn’t have to…” 

Tony holds up a hand. “Yeah, yeah, you tried this last night, too. I didn’t _have_ to, but I wanted to. You’re stuck with me, Steven.”

“You’re going to get sick,” Steve tries. 

“Probably, yeah. So I might as well start the resting process now then, hm? Come, join me on the couch, I have bagels,” Tony says, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Steve laughs as Tony grabs the bagels in one hand and Steve’s hand with the other, leading them both to the living room. Tony had cleaned up while Steve slept, he realizes. The blankets are folded neatly in a corner of the couch, the mugs and tissues cleared from the coffee table. It’s a small thing, compared to everything else, but Steve smiles at his clean living room, at the wide grin Tony gives him as he pulls Steve down onto the couch beside him. 

“You know I love you, right?” Steve asks when they’re settled, Tony’s arms wrapped tightly around him. 

Tony laughs and rolls his eyes, pressing another kiss fond kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Sickness makes you sappy,” he points out. “But I love you, too.” 





	15. like the movies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the night before their wedding

“I’m not supposed to have this,” Tony says as Rhodey passes him a drink. He takes a small sip and continues staring down at the simple engagement band on his finger. They’re at a bar the night before Tony’s wedding, and he’s running the gamut of emotions. It’s not an uncommon thing for Tony on a normal day, but it’s hitting him all at once that in a matter of hours, he gets to marry Steve in front of their friends and family and then spend the _rest of his life_ loving him.

It’s not that he thinks he doesn’t deserve it, exactly. It just feels too good to be true, most of the time. _Steve_ felt too good to be true.

“What do you mean, _not supposed to?_ ” Rhodey asks. Tony can all but see the tiny red flags going up in his best friend’s head, and he reaches over to squeeze his shoulder affectionately. How did he luck out _twice?_ Once with Rhodey, all those years ago when he walked into a dorm room that brought him the best friend he’ll ever have, then again twenty years later with Steve. Lightning doesn’t strike twice and all that, but Tony sometimes wonders if he’s the exception to that rule.

“Don’t worry honeybear, I’m not about to pull a Runaway Bride or anything. I’m just thinking. I got really lucky, somehow.”

“Steve’s lucky too, you know, Tones,” Rhodey says with a small smile. “And he puts up with you with the patience of a saint. Man deserves a medal.”

There’s a warm laugh behind them, and Tony turns to find Steve, flanked by Sam and Bucky. His stomach gives a little flip at the sight of him, his hair rumpled from the wind, his jacket unzipped and showing off the tight white shirt he has on underneath. He looks _perfect_.

Tony snakes his arms around Steve’s waist and leans up to kiss him, grinning. “What are you doing here?” he asks, looking from his fiancée to Sam and Bucky, who roll their eyes and shrug.

“He started waxing poetic about _time_ and _space_ and _luck_ , then started in on how much he missed you. After a matter of _hours,”_ Sam explains. “So here we are. Crashing your evening.” He shoots Rhodey an apologetic look.

Steve just looks at Tony sheepishly and nods.

“Don’t just sit there and act like you weren’t doing the same damn thing,” Rhodey says with a nudge. 

Tony grins and shakes his head. “A man never pines and tells.” He stands, motioning for Steve to take his seat at the bar, and proceeds to perch himself on his lap, winding his arms around his neck once again. 

They hadn’t done the traditional bachelor party thing, choosing instead to have a drink the night before the wedding with their closest friends. Tony had balked at the idea at first, claiming he’d want to be with Steve the night before their wedding. It brings him a ridiculous amount of joy that his soon to be husband was the one to give in first, in the end.

“You ready to do this? No take backs after tomorrow, so speak now or forever hold your peace,” Tony says in Steve’s ear. 

Somewhere, outside their haze of happiness and pre-wedding jitters, Bucky mutters something about public indecency, but neither of them hear it. Instead, Steve leans back, looking at Tony with certainty clear in his bright blue eyes, and nods.

“Easiest decision of my life.”


	16. nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "you had another nightmare, didn't you?"

Tony isn’t sure when it changes, only that one day, he realizes that he _trusts_ Steve. Maybe more than he’s ever trusted anyone. Certainly more than anyone he’s ever dated. He’d always kept a kind of distance between his partners, for better or worse, putting up walls to protect them from his particular brand of mess, to protect himself from inevitable heartbreak.

It seemed simple, in the moment. Easier.

But with Steve it’d been different from the beginning. Like Steve had sensed the tiny sliver of space Tony kept trying to wedge between them and walked right into it, arms and heart open. When Tony would walk away after a battle or a fight, Steve would follow, finding him in the workshop and drawing him out of his own head and reminding him, in his own way, that he wasn’t alone in this. That he didn’t have to run when things got hard. 

Steve had knocked the walls down and made a space for himself, and somewhere along the line, Tony realized he wanted him to stay. 

And, magically, Steve _stayed_. And he kept staying. 

Even when Tony would wake up, disoriented and shaking, crying out from some terrible dream that was already slipping out of his grasp. Afghanistan or wormholes or the endless list of things he hadn’t thought of yet, Steve was there. Stroking his hair and pulling him in and murmuring in the dark, _you had another nightmare, didn’t you_?

Those were the moments when Tony knew this was different, this was a forever kind of thing. When he’d let himself nod slowly, let the tension and terror ease from his bones as Steve moved in closer, reminding him that he was right here, that he’s got him, and he wasn’t going anywhere. 


	17. overreaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "i knew you'd over react"

“I knew you’d overreact,” Tony huffs at Steve. “You haven’t even _seen_ him yet.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point! You brought home a _dog_ without even calling me. You _had_ to know I’d be mad, you said it yourself.”

“I got caught up in the moment,” Tony defends. 

Steve laughs at this, he can’t help it. “You _always_ get caught up in the moment when you go to the shelter! I’m going to start sending you with supervision. Sam runs the shelter, I’ll ask him to call me anytime you set foot there. We’re going to have a shelter of our own soon if you don’t stop.”

Tony sighs. “Fine. _Fine._ I’ll call you next time. But in the meantime, would you just give him a chance?” 

He disappears into the next room before Steve can respond, and returns with a smallish chocolate lab by his side. He’s walking with a limp and looking up at Tony adoringly, his eyes a shade of amber-brown that, Steve thinks, is strikingly similar to his husband’s own eyes.

The dog approaches Steve slowly and carefully, as if sensing his annoyance. He sniffs at Steve’s ankles and looks up at him, melted chocolate eyes sad and unsure, and Steve sighs, because he truly doesn’t stand a chance. He crouches down beside the dog and holds out a hand, petting him cautiously and smiling when he drops onto his haunches and looks up with a little more confidence.

“This,” Tony says, clearly trying not to smile in sheer triumph, “is Bentley. His one back paw is shorter than the rest, so he moves a little slow sometimes, but once he gets going, he’s hard to catch. He’s the most affectionate little guy you’ll ever meet.” 

Tony looks at Steve, picks Bentley up and into his arms, then bats his own brown eyes and grins. “So? Can he stay?” 

And really, it’s not like Steve can say no to _two_ sets of those eyes. 


	18. perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "how do you always manage to look so perfect?"

Steve takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The reflection staring back at him in the mirror is one he hardly recognizes: hair brushed back, slim shoulders and hips clad in a suit he couldn’t begin to guess the price of. More than his rent each month, he’s almost positive.

Tony would be here any minute to pick him up for the gala his parents were hosting.

Steve had been nervous, hell, he’s _still_ nervous, but Tony won him over. _If I have to go, at least come with me so I don’t get stuck talking to stuffy rich people all night? Scandalizing them with my boyfriend will be the cherry on top. Plus, I want to see you all dolled up._ The wink that accompanied all this had Steve wishing for his inhaler, and the lack of oxygen must have been what made him nod his head. _Sure._

Now, though, the nerves are back with a vengeance. Meeting his boyfriend’s parents for the first time is a big step, one he’d taken few times in his college experience. And by few, he meant _once_. Surely he’s crazy, completely lost his mind to be meeting the parents in such a hugely public setting. But then he thinks of Tony, the way he talks about his already rocky relationship with them, and swallows. It’s one night. He could do one night, right?

The knock on his door makes the cycle of doubts start all over again, and when he opens the door, his hands tremble slightly.

“Hi,” he says, smiling despite himself. Tony looks perfect, like always, smooth and put together. He _belongs_ at fancy galas.

“Hi,” Tony says, smiling hugely. He makes a show of looking Steve up and down so slowly Steve feels his face flush a blotchy pink. “You look amazing. How do you always manage to look so perfect?” He leans in and brushes their lips together, and just like that, Steve’s nerves settle into the background once more.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he counters, reaching down and threading their hands together. “I guess it’s not or never, huh?”

Tony beams. “Now,” he repeats. “You’re perfect. They’re going to love you.”


	19. lost toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> superfamily fluff in which baby peter can't sleep without his favorite stuffed mickey, which has gone missing

“It’s not him,” Peter wails. He hands the stuffed Mickey back to Tony as his eyes fill all over again. 

Tony sucks in a breath and says, as patiently as he can manage, “Petey, it’s him. It’s Mickey!” They’d been in the middle of what Tony and Steve were calling the Missing Mouse Problem for a few hours now, and he’s nearing the end of his rope. 

Pepper had warned them early on to buy backups of favorite stuffed animals, and when Peter started getting attached to the stuffed toy they’d gotten in Disney World, they’d purchased their first backup. It was from the park website and everything, not even a Disney Store knockoff! They were never supposed to have this problem, except now Tony’s son is glaring up at him, watery-eyed, and correctly informing him that _this_ mouse is an imposter.

“It’s not _my_ Mickey!” Peter’s chin quivers and Tony can feel panic setting in. They’re well past nap time now, so Peter is frantic _and_ over-tired, but he won’t sleep without his friend, so they’re all between a rock and a hard place.

Steve, thank god, chooses then to return to the living room. He’d been on the phone all morning, calling friends and even Peter’s daycare teachers, trying to locate the real Mickey, but he shakes his head at the hopeful look Tony gives him. 

“Miss Kristy hasn’t seen him,” Steve sighs. “How’re things in here?”

“This isn’t my Mickey,” Peter informs Steve, his voice grave. 

“It’s not—what?” Steve looks up at Tony, his eyes wide, mouthing _how?_

Tony shakes his head. “He’s stubborn, just like Daddy.”

“And too smart for his own good _like Daddy_ ,” Steve counters with a smile. He looks at Peter, lifting him onto his lap. “Come here, pal. Maybe we should take a nap, and when you wake up, Mickey will be back.” 

Peter shakes his head adamantly. “No-o, not without Mickey,” he cries, burying his little face in Steve’s shoulder. 

Tony’s heart breaks a little, watching the scene unfold. They’re at DEFCON one at this point, with no end in sight. 

Just then, Tony’s phone lights up with a call from Happy, and he lifts it to his ear, talking quickly. “Hey Hap, what can I do for you? We’re in the middle of a crisis over here, so…”

He can just about hear Happy’s ears perk up at the word _crisis_. “Crisis? You want me to come back down there?” 

“No,” Tony sighs, “Nothing life-threatening, just a missing Mickey Mouse and the saddest toddler you’ve ever seen.”

“Mickey?” Happy repeats. “I put that in the washer earlier while you two were at breakfast. That thing was filthy, Tony, really, you have to consider the _germs…”_ But Tony is no longer listening, because he’s sprinting to the laundry room, where in fact, Mickey sits, fresh as a daisy, in the dryer. 

By the time he runs back up to the living room, Mickey held aloft triumphantly, he’s stunned to find Peter out like a light on Steve’s chest. From the looks of it, Steve isn’t far behind, his eyes drooping shut as he rubs Peter’s back. 

“ _What?_ But I found him!” Tony’s nearly on the verge of a tantrum himself at this point, but Steve just gives him a tired little smile and holds out a hand, motioning for Tony to join them on the couch. 

“Think how thrilled he’ll be when he wakes up,” Steve whispers. “For now though, I think we’ve all earned a nap, don’t you?”

Tony can hardly argue, though he’s still muttering as he snuggles himself in beside Steve on the couch, tucking Mickey in beside Peter, so he’d have him as soon as he wakes up. 

“You’re a hero,” Steve mumbles sleepily, despite being the one to get Peter to sleep _without_ the magic mouse. 

Tony just rolls his eyes and rests his head on his husband’s shoulder. “They just don’t warn you about this stuff in the parenting books.”


	20. let's sleep in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sleepy morning cuddles

When Steve wakes up, the first thing he notices is that Tony is home, and it’s early. So early that the sun is hardly up yet, but when Steve rolls over, he’s greeted by the dim blue light of the arc reactor. Tony must’ve slipped into bed in the middle of the night, determined, as always, not to wake Steve up. He’s half-asleep and hazy, but he feels a smile spread slowly over his face at the way Tony is curled in so tightly around him. If he’s tactile in his waking hours, he’s an octopus when he sleeps, latching onto Steve and wrapping himself around him from chest to foot. It’s the kind of thing only Steve gets to see, and he’s not sure it’ll ever get old.

The chill of the early spring morning hangs in the air, and Steve pulls Tony in closer, pressing kisses into his hair, along his cheek, continuing his path until his nose bumps Tony’s ear. He doesn’t want to wake him up, but he’s been gone for two weeks and Steve’s missed this, the ability to reach out and kiss, to _touch_ , just because he wants to. And now, Tony’s home after back to back business trips, sleep-warm and soft and Steve can’t resist.

Tony nuzzles into Steve’s chest reflexively, muttering quietly. “S’early,” he says, eyes pressed firmly shut.

“It’s early,” Steve agrees, watching the slow rise and fall of his husband’s chest.

“You’re not getting up, right? No ungodly morning run today,” Tony says into his pillow, opening one eye to confirm that Steve is staying put.

“I think I can spare a morning off to welcome my husband home,” Steve says softly, as if he was planning on going anywhere with the bed this warm, and Tony as soft and sleepy-affectionate as he is.

“Good,” Tony promptly closes his eyes and reaches around to pull Steve back down to sleep. The sun is starting to peek through the slats in the blinds, blanketing them in the pink and gold hues of morning, but Steve has no trouble at all drifting back to sleep.


	21. helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt for steve being clumsy and breaking things because he has a huge crush on tony. who can blame him!!

Tony is pretty sure his presence alone is enough to make Steve mad these days. It seems like every time he walks into the room the guy’s face flushes a bright Christmas red, and he has been known, on occasion, to break things when Tony enters a room. 

Which, Tony _gets it_ , okay? He’s not the most beloved person in the world. That’s just a fact; he can point to about a million articles dragging his every move. But he could deal with the press, with _strangers_ disliking him. It’s easy when you don’t care, but Steve’s reactions are a little harder to swallow, given Tony’s whole, giant, super-soldier-sized _crush_ on the guy. Seriously, he’s never been less suave and more of a bumbling mess in his entire romantic life.

Just that morning, Tony had gone to the kitchen, still in his pajamas, for a cup of coffee, and Steve had just about lost his mind. Tony had walked in to find Steve alone in the kitchen, and he’d tried to be pleasant, he really had. There was a dozen donuts on the table, and really, who could be in a bad mood when the day starts with _donuts_?

“Morning, Bomb Pop,” Tony said, yawning and grabbing a chocolate cream donut from the box. He was just about to take a bite when Steve glanced up, looked at him for a beat, clocking his (admittedly) messy hair and pjs, and tightened the grip on his own donut so much that a glob of jelly fell out, covering his tight gray t-shirt in bright red goo. 

Steve muttered a curse, his cheeks a splotchy pink, before excusing himself from the kitchen. 

“Was it something I said?” Tony said aloud to no one. He needed more coffee, that was for sure. 

Seriously, he had to find out what he’d done to piss Steve off, for his own sanity. 

*

The next time it happens is during movie night a few weeks later. Steve is surprisingly late, and by the time he strides into the common room, mug of tea in hand, the only open seat is… next to Tony. He watches Steve swallow hard before sighing, walking over to the couch like it’s some kind of death march. He sinks into the couch, spine ramrod straight, eyes ahead, and they stay like that, tense and unmoving, for the first thirty minutes of the movie. They might have stayed that way, too, except Tony can feel the silence down to his _pores_ and it’s killing him slowly. 

Death by a thousand cuts. 

Plus, doesn’t Steve’s back hurt like that? 

A few more minutes tick by before Tony has to end it. 

He finally leans over and whispers in Steve’s ear, “Sorry you got stuck with me, Capsicle.” 

Steve jumps so hard and so high at Tony’s voice in his ear that the mug breaks in his hands, tea spilling all over his stupid, perfectly-fitted sweat pants. 

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t— I thought you saw me lean over!” Tony says. And he really _is_ sorry, because Steve’s expression is unreadable, his face pained and pink and fucking _adorable_ and Tony feels something in him start to wither at the way Steve brushes him off. 

“I’m just gonna go change and… yeah,” Steve says in a rush, getting up from the couch and leaving the room like his heels are on fire. 

He doesn’t come back, and Tony pretends like that doesn’t sting.

*

Things come to a head at a gala a month later. There’ve been more tense silences, more broken plates and red cheeks, but there have been some good times, too. 

Tony thinks they’re making progress. At the very least, Steve can stay in the same room with him, can smile at him, even joke around sometimes. Slow and steady, Tony thinks, every time he’s given the rare gift of a full, Steve Rogers smile. It’s like looking at the sun, and it’s insane, what it does to him, sending his inside into a tornado of too many long-hidden feelings. 

Tony spends most of the evening schmoozing, making the rounds, smiling and nodding until he feels more like a puppet than a man. So, when he finally, _finally_ gets a break almost two hours in, he’s relieved to see Steve. He’s standing at the bar, champagne flute in hand, and he looks _impeccable._ _Edible_ , Tony’s lizard brain supplies, but he pushes the thought away. 

“You clean up nice,” Tony says in greeting, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

He should have known, really. He should have thought about it. But the minute Steve hears his voice and looks up at him, the delicate, stupidly expensive champagne glass goes to pieces in his hands. Tony can almost feel his heart shattering right along with it, because honestly, aren’t they past all this?

“Sorry,” Tony sighs. “God, I’m… Let’s go upstairs, I’ll clean that up.” 

Steve pales at the suggestion. “It’s just a scratch, I’m fine, I don’t need—”

And maybe it’s the long night, the realization that he and Steve will never be more than this, stilted friendship and long pauses, but Tony snaps. 

“Right, got it. I should stay away. But do me a favor, Cap, tell me what I did here? Every time I think we’re okay you break something into a million pieces. What, do you wish it was me?”

Steve’s eyes widen. “What? No. Tony, _no_. I just… I’m… I’m sorry, I never meant to…”

Tony sighs. “Words, Steve, please use them.”

Steve takes a deep, stuttering breath, then finally meets Tony’s eyes. “I’m _trying_ ,” he grumbles. “I’m not good at this.”

“Holding glassware? No, not really,” Tony drawls.

“Telling people how I feel,” Steve says in a rush, his face going its trademark shade of red. 

“Telling people how you—” Now it’s Tony’s turn to blue screen, his mind going totally and entirely blank. Because it _sounds_ like Steve didn’t hate him at all but maybe…

“I’ve been trying to tell you for a long time now, but every time I thought about it, you’d walk in looking like… well, _you_ , and I’d just… snap, I guess.” 

“So you… have feelings… for me?” Tony says slowly. 

Steve nods, miserably, staring down at the broken glass on the bar. 

“I thought you hated me! All this time I’ve… and we could’ve….” Tony trails off. Words clearly aren’t getting this done fast enough, so he lifts Steve’s face up until they’re looking at each other again. 

“I’m going to do something,” Tony breathes. “Please don’t crush me like that glass, deal?”

Steve nods, almost imperceptibly, and Tony’s breathless, amazed, really, how gentle and soft that first kiss is, given all the broken pieces leading up to it. 


	22. detention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> high school au + a crush + detention

Tony’s on his way to Fury’s English class, late, as usual, after chemistry. This time, his lab ended with a bang, so to speak, after he added a _little_ extra sodium to the beaker he and Bruce were working with. Technically, it wasn’t Tony’s fault, he was just trying to see what would happen; he could do the experiment in his sleep, he just wanted to add a little intrigue. 

So, Tony’s a little out of it as he rushes through the hallway, equations still swimming through his head, because seriously, it never should’ve exploded like that. He’s not watching where he’s going, and he’s almost there, playing race against time with the bell, when he walks right into Steve Rogers as he exits the room, sending his notebooks and his copy of _Rebecca_ flying. 

Steve might have hit the ground right along with them, his long, lanky body giving way as Tony barrels into him, but Tony grabs his arm at the last minute, keeping him upright. He steadies him, mouth going dry as he realizes who it is he almost took out. 

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you, I was a million miles away, you know how it is? Uh, anyway, here…” Tony hands Steve his fallen books and realizes his face is a bright shade of pink so unfairly cute Tony thinks he might just be the next thing to burst into flame. 

Steve shoves his long blond hair out of his face and stutters out what Tony gathers is an apology before taking off down the hallway after Bucky, leaving Tony to stare listlessly after him. This is what they did: awkward encounters in hallways and between classes, shy waves and mumbled greetings, but Tony wants _more_ in way he never had before. He wants more in the kind of stupid, can’t-eat-can’t-sleep kind of way Tony thought only existed in bad TV shows. 

“Will you be gracing us with your presence today, Mr. Stark?” Fury asks dryly, interrupting Tony’s thoughts and ushering him to his seat in front of Rhodey in the back of the room. He immediately tears a page from the back of his notebook and scrawls out a note to his friend.

_Have you seen him today? I almost knocked him down just now. He turned a million shades of red and it was ridiculously cute. Also, he’s wearing that shirt again. How am I supposed to survive under these conditions? :( I’m dying out here, Platypus._

Tony folds the note and slips it behind him to Rhodey, who sighs when he reads it, as if Tony could help it, how good Steve looks _every day_ without even seeming to know it. 

_Tell Rogers you like him or you’re walking home for the rest of the year, I swear to god, Tony._

Tony shakes his head to himself. It’s easier said than done, as he’s _told_ Rhodey a million times. 

_He’s always with Barnes, it’s impossible. Besides, he’d never like me like that. And what did I say about writing his name! What if someone —_

Before Tony can finish his reply, the note is snatched out from his hand, and to his horror, Fury’s _reading it_ , his eyes rolling. Tony’s stomach drops. This is exactly why he never wrote names in his notes, because things like _this_ happened and they fell into the wrong hands and _god_ Tony should just text Rhodey… 

“Big day for letter writing in my class,” Fury says, looking almost amused. 

“It is English class,” Tony tries. 

“Yes, yes it is. Which is why I’ll give this back to you…” Tony is almost relieved, maybe Fury would just give him a warning and continue class like it never happened.

“…So you can finish it this afternoon, in detention. But don’t worry, I’m sure Mr. Rogers will be thrilled to have you joining him there.” Fury winks, and Tony sees it playing out all over again, Steve rushing from the room, his red, embarrassed face, the way he couldn’t seem to get away from Tony fast enough. His stomach flips and his cheeks heat. Was Fury implying…

“Holy shit, finally!” Rhodey crows from behind him. 

Fury laughs, then composes himself. “Language, Mr. Rhodes, or you’ll be joining the two lovebirds in detention.” 

Rhodey shuts up all too quickly, and Tony slips down in his seat as class starts in earnest. Detention had never sounded so good. 


	23. light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve loves the arc reactor

Steve still thinks about it, the first time he spent the night at Tony’s, how Tony reached to the ground, feeling around for something, shifting his weight up and off Steve’s chest. He remembers mourning the loss of contact almost immediately, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Tony’s arm, his elbow, if Steve remembers correctly, because it was what he could reach. 

“What are you doing? Come back here,” Steve mumbled, tugging on Tony’s arm. 

He remembers the way Tony’s eyebrows furrowed together, his eyes narrowing. “Just… looking for my shirt.” He said it like it was obvious, which, to Steve, at the time, it wasn’t. 

“You don’t need your shirt. If I haven’t made that clear yet, then you _really_ need to come back here.”

“I do,” Tony insisted. “Trust me, you’ll be thankful for it later. No one likes to sleep next to a perpetual night light.” Again, his voice was matter of fact, and Steve could tell by the set of his jaw that this was something Tony said from experience. 

“Tony,” Steve said, more serious now. He squeezed Tony’s hand and met his eye when he finally looked back over at him. 

“What?”

“You don’t need your shirt.”

“But—”

“I like it. The light, the reactor. All of it. All of _you_.” Steve held Tony’s gaze until he nodded, uncertain, and laid himself back down, body still tense, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Steve took the opportunity to wrap his arms around him tighter, pressing his lips to the cool metal of the reactor, blinking in the soft, blue light of it. 

Now, two years later, Steve can’t imagine sleeping without it. How many nights had he woken up after nightmares, only to be soothed back to sleep by the rise and fall of Tony’s chest, and the blue light it contained? How many nights had it kept him company when he was too keyed up tp sleep? Steve had lost count long ago. 

It was something he couldn’t put into words, how much he loved and relied on it, how much he loved _Tony._

Now, Tony comes padding back into the room, pausing before he slips into bed beside Steve. “What’s that look for?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Something dirty?”

Steve smiles and shakes his head. “No,” he says. “No, just enjoying the light.” 


	24. one in a melon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an excuse to make them go to a farmer's market and use my terrible fruit puns

“I’m gonna grab some apples,” Steve says, turning toward a long table laden with fruit. An older woman smiles over at them from her place behind the table, and Steve gives her a little wave. 

“How very Captain America of you, darling. Do you plan to bake them into a pie when we get home, too?” Tony teases, letting himself be led. 

Steve just rolls his eyes as he picks up a basket of honey crisps. “These look good, right?” 

Tony snags one from the bunch, holding it out and pretending to inspect it. “Right,” he says, thoughtfully. “Not as good as you, though, sweetheart, _apple_ of my eye.” 

He gives an over the top wink that makes Steve laugh and duck his head. It’s hardly anything, really, but little terms of endearment always made Steve smile and blush adorably, and sometimes Tony just can’t resist. A warm Saturday morning with nothing to do but meander through a farmer’s market, the sun hitting Steve’s hair and making it shine like spun gold, is without a doubt one of those times. 

They make their way down the table, hands still tangled together, and Tony is struck, suddenly, by how good Steve looks, how _happy_ he is here, deftly picking out fruit for them, analyzing it, adding it to the canvas tote bag he brings every week. Steve’s built a rapport with a lot of the vendors now, greeting them warmly and asking about their lives. 

They’ve settled into a weekend routine Tony would find _achingly_ boring with anyone else. 

Steve’s looking at bags of grapes, distracted, when Tony spots a cantaloupe and grabs it, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and leaning in to press his lips to his ear.

“Steve,” he breathes. 

“Tony…” Steve sounds uneasy, like he’s not sure what might come out of Tony’s mouth next, and isn’t entirely sure he wants to find out so publicly. 

“I just want you to know… you’re one in a _melon_.” Tony pulls away, dropping a chaste kiss to the side of Steve’s neck as he goes. He clocks the light flush creeping up Steve’s cheeks and grins. 

“You’re a menace.”

“You like it,” Tony counters, tucking himself into Steve’s side. 

“I like it,” Steve agrees. He pauses for a second, then turns back to Tony, eyes dancing. “Guess that’s because you’ve got a _peach_ of my heart.” 

Tony’s fairly sure he’s never loved him more. 


	25. elope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wedding planning takes, like, a lot of effort

“Calligraphy or stamps?” Tony debates aloud, though it’s more to himself than Steve. They need to start on the place cards for the reception, but they were getting to the point where even one more choice feels impossible. Hand-stamped is nice, not to mention personal, but it would be so time consuming. Calligraphy is classic, and he could probably pay someone to do it… 

Tony only realizes he’s had the entire conversation out loud when Steve wraps both arms around him from behind, pulling him in tightly and smiling into the erratic curls of Tony’s hair. It’d been a long day, nearly endless, really, between tastings and planning and a two-hour debrief Tony _really_ could have done without. He feels himself settle almost immediately into Steve’s arms, trusts that Steve would hold him up, carry him for just a minute. 

“I’ll do whatever you think, you know that. Calligraphy is nice. Stamps are nice, too… But…” Steve trails off, studying Tony. 

“But what?” Tony frowns at him until Steve laughs, low and rumbling and warm. Tony _loves_ that laugh. Most of the time. “Don’t laugh at me! This is our _wedding,_ Steve. We’re only doing this once, and I just want it to be—”

Steve leans in and kisses the words from his mouth, soft at first, then deeper, and Tony has to blink a few times when they finally break apart. 

“Perfect,” Steve finishes.

Tony just nods, gazing up at his husband-to-be. “Yeah, perfect.” He’s quiet for a minute, lost in how much he loves the man standing in front of him. Then he remembers. 

“Hey! You never finished. _But what_?”

Steve laughs again, then takes a deep breath. “But… no matter how many decisions we make, the one that really counts is already done. I want to marry you. I want to spend my life with you. Everything else is just…details.” 

_Everything else is just details_.

He’s right, Tony realizes. He usually is, but this time… 

Tony tugs Steve back down for another searing kiss. “I love you. You’re right. Come on. I have an idea.”


	26. sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "keep talking, your voice helps me sleep."

Steve’s putting the finishing touches on a commission he owes a client when there’s a knock on his door. He frowns; it’s nearly midnight. He shuffles his tablet and throw blanket to the other side of the couch and makes his way to the door. There’s really only one person it could be at this hour; one person he _wants_ it to be, but Tony is on Iron Man duty this weekend, away on a mission while Steve spends the time alone working through the last of his outstanding client projects. He lets himself hope for a second that it _is_ Tony, even though he isn’t entirely sure Tony’s his to miss, then opens the door. 

All of Steve’s hopes fall away at the sight that greets him on the other side of the door. It is Tony, but he’s shadow-eyed and holding onto the doorframe like he doesn’t trust himself to stay upright on his own. 

“Hi,” Tony says, quietly. He’s more unsure than Steve’s ever heard him, voice low and pained in a way that makes Steve’s throat tighten with worry.

“Hi,” Steve repeats, reaching out a hand for Tony to take. “Are you okay? What happened?” 

Tony winces. “Took a hit, fell a few hundred feet. It’s mostly just bruising, and…”

“A few _hundred?_ Tony… even with the suit that’s…” Steve falters. He knows this is all just part of it, part of Tony being Iron Man. Despite all that, though, Steve _also_ knows that the worry and unease will never go away, and seeing Tony here like this tonight just serves as a reminder that beneath all the tech and the layers of metal, Tony’s just… _Tony._ He’s only human, and humans can break _._

Tony blinks at him. Normally he’d argue, but tonight it looks like he’s had the fight knocked right out of him. “I know. Went to med, but there’s really nothing they can do but tell me to rest, and I just… I can do that anywhere. Wanted to see you,” Tony adds, gaze focused on a spot just past Steve. 

“Of course. I’m glad you’re here. Come on, come in. Did you drive here? Tony, walk with me, okay? I’ve got you,” Steve winds an arm around Tony’s waist, taking on most of his weight as he walks them to his room, work all but forgotten. 

“Mm? No, no, Happy drove me. Said I can’t drive or fly the suit with a concussion…”

“ _A concussion?_ ” Steve repeats, though he knows it’s not the worst thing, not by a long shot, that Tony could have showed up with. The fact that he’s here at all like this… well. Tony’s words echo in Steve’s head. _Wanted to see you_. Warmth and worry and relief fight for dominance inside him. 

Tony nods, then tries to smile, but it’s more of a grimace. He’s already in a t-shirt and sweats, so Steve just holds onto him with one hand and pulls down the comforter with the other. 

“You should lay down, okay? Do you need anything? Advil or something, or… water?” He feels at a loss. 

Tony maneuvers himself under the blankets carefully, eyes falling shut. “No, no. Just you. Sorry, I didn’t mean to just show up and… I know we don’t really do this.” 

Steve’s stomach gives a lurch. How does he tell Tony that they _could_ do this, whatever this is. That he _wants_ to do exactly this, every night, without a concussion to inspire it. He wants Tony here _all_ the time, because he wants to be, because he’s Steve’s. 

“Tony, you don’t have to apologize. I’m glad you showed up here and aren’t spending the night home alone in pain. Or worse, working through it in the lab. I know you thought about it.” 

Tony gives a tired little laugh, just a quick exhale, but it gives Steve the confidence he needs to slip under the covers next to Tony, curling around him gently.

“We can do this, you know. And not just when you’re concussed. I mean, we can talk about it more in the morning, when you’re not half asleep, but I want you to know. I want this, too. All the time. Okay, I— I should let you sleep.”

Tony’s hand finds its way into Steve’s, fingers lacing sleepily. “No, no, keep talking, your voice helps me sleep.”

Steve smiles, squeezing Tony’s hand in his, and nods. “I can do that,” he whispers.


	27. cuddling for warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> college au + a broken heater = cuddling your roommate for warmth, right?

“I’m turning into a human popsicle,” Tony mutters from his desk. He pulls his knees up onto his chair, shivering for effect. “If they don’t fix the heat soon I’m taking a wrench to it myself.” 

Steve laughs. “That’s terrifying, and would definitely end with the fire alarm going off. Or worse, your robot dousing us both. _Again.”_

He hadn’t expected to like his nocturnal Engineering major roommate _nearly_ this much, but from the first day, when Tony splayed himself dramatically on his bed and asked if Steve being an art major meant he could paint him like one of his French girls, Steve had been constantly surprised. 

And… _Fond._

_Enamored._

Or, as Bucky liked to remind him during their covert FaceTimes, _Ya got a hell of a crush on him, pal._

“DUM-E is innocent!” Tony proclaims, swinging himself up from the chair. 

“Until proven guilty, sure,” Steve agrees. 

“Innocent!” 

“Until you’re covered in foam, and threatening to give him away again, you mean? I can call the maintenance people again when I finish this paper,” Steve offers, because that’s what he can do. The room _is_ freezing, but he can’t exactly offer Tony his sweatshirt, or wrap his arms around him, no matter how much he might want to. 

“You’re a gentleman and a scholar, Steven. Where would I be without you? Lost. Alone. Adrift! Colder than I am right now!” 

Steve does his best to tamp down the hope that fills him whenever Tony gives one of these speeches. He’s like this with _everyone,_ Steve reminds himself _: o_ verly friendly, touchy, _affectionate_ in the best way. It’s nothing special, they just happened to be roommates, it was inevitable that Steve saw this side of him more than anyone. 

“Flattery won’t get this done any faster,” Steve says, though he can’t keep the smile from his voice. 

“But Steeeeve,” Tony whines, flopping himself onto his bed. “I’m freezing, and it’s getting late! I can’t sleep under these conditions. I need a nap before my lab tonight. Fury works us like dogs, and he hates when I nod off after I inevitably finish before everyone else.”

Tony yanks his blanket up and around him, swaddling himself inside it until he’s nothing but a puff of curly hair with a nose peeking out. 

“I’m working!” 

“I know, and I respect that. But also… we could take a nap together? For warmth,” Tony adds quickly.

When Steve turns to look at him, he looks almost… shy. If _shy_ was a thing Tony Stark could feel, that is. 

“For warmth,” Steve repeats slowly. 

At Tony’s nod, he finds himself walking over to Tony’s narrow twin bed before he can stop himself. 

“Fine,” Steve says quietly. “I wouldn’t want you to die of hypothermia. Then I’d have to get a new roommate, and I might not like them nearly as much, then what would I do?”

“Exactly,” Tony says, and there’s a definite pink to his cheeks as he shuffles over, making room for Steve beside him. There’s more hesitant shuffling as Steve lays down, body rigid and heart pounding so loud in his chest that he’s sure Tony can feel it. 

“See, this is better,” Tony mumbles tiredly. 

Later, when they wake up wrapped around each other tightly, two spoons fitting together perfectly in a comically small dorm bed, well. They’re certainly warm. 


	28. scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: waking up to someone counting freckles but make it scars

Tony blinks awake, unsure what woke him up, but aware that he’d slept for a good few hours. It feels late, dark and quiet, and shadows dance across the walls around him. As consciousness returns to him, he realizes that Steve’s awake, too. Steve’s _home,_ and his fingers are tracing a careful pattern across Tony’s chest, wandering gently over the myriad scars that surround the arc reactor.

“You’re back,” Tony says, voice rough with sleep. 

“Just got in,” Steve tells him. “I didn’t mean to wake you up, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

Tony yawns, glancing down at Steve’s still wandering hand. “S’okay.” He turns to press a kiss to Steve’s wrist, then smiles when Steve leans down to kiss him softly, properly, on the lips. 

“Missed you,” Tony mumbles against his mouth.

“I missed you, too. Missed this,” Steve says, kissing him again. 

“And this.” A hand in Tony’s hair this time. 

“And these…” Steve’s hand is on Tony’s chest again, and he has to convince himself to stay still. They’ve been together long enough that Tony isn’t self conscious about the scarring exactly, but he usually sleeps with a shirt on, and he hadn’t tonight. “All 56 of them.”

“56? You… _counted_?”

“Well, you were asleep, and you looked so comfortable, and they were just there,” Steve shrugs, like Tony might be upset by this. 

“I thought people counted sheep to help them sleep,” Tony forces out. “They’re cute. Fluffy. Scars are way less appealing.”

“They’re part of you,” Steve counters, leaning down again and dropping a kiss to Tony’s chest as if to illustrate his point.

Steve kisses the uncertain _hmph_ sound from Tony’s lips, and pulls away, smiling. “Shh, I can _hear_ that big brain of yours trying to convince you otherwise. They’re perfect, okay? Now, come here.” Steve pulls Tony in close, and Tony lets himself be held, arguments dying on his lips as Steve illustrates just how much he loves all those parts of him. 


	29. snoring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony snores when he's sick

“I’m dying,” Tony moans. He’s voice is tired and congested, and his nose is flushed red. Steve isn’t sure if he should laugh or hug him or both. 

“You say this every time. You’re not dying, darling,” Steve says. “You have a cold. You’re going to be fine, I promise.” 

“I can’t sleep like this,” Tony sighs, shifting over for the millionth time that night. His tablet makes his eyes water, his head is too fuzzy for reading, and he can’t breathe properly when he lays down. “It’s hopeless.”

“Well, that’s good news for me; when you sleep, you snore,” Steve teases. 

“What happened to _in sickness and in health_ , Steven? You mock my illness? How could you?” Tony throws an arm over his forehead, woeful. 

Steve shakes his head, laughing. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.” He gives his best serious face, then motions for Tony to move closer to him. “Come here, it’s not _completely_ hopeless. I know one way that always get you to sleep.” 

Tony gives him a dubious look, but does as Steve says, until he’s laying with his head in his lap. 

Steve strokes his hands through Tony’s hair, the curls rumpled from a day on the couch and in bed, softly working through knots and massaging his scalp. It’s methodical enough to be soothing, even for him, and it’s not long before Tony’s telltale snores start, rumbling through them both. 

Steve smiles down at him, hands still tangled in his husband’s hair. “Told you so.”


	30. welcome home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they buy their first house and tony buys a lot of pillows

Steve’s already upstairs when Tony gets home, gently pulling tape up from the bedroom wall he spent the afternoon painting a deep shade of blue. His shirt, once bright white, is paint spattered and riding up just enough at his middle to expose a smooth, gold strip of skin. He’s _perfect._ Tony stands in the doorway a second longer than he needs to as it hits him, that he gets to come home to Steve in this room _every day_. That for the first time, he’s building a home _with_ someone, rather than just clearing drawer space in his apartment, or moving his razor into a new bathroom every now and then. 

Sure, maybe he should have had this moment of realization weeks, if not months ago, certainly before they closed on the new house, well before he and Steve made their generous downpayment. (Which they split, despite Tony’s many, _many_ protests. Because Steve is Steve, and his name is just about synonymous with words like _indignant_ and _stubborn_ , so Tony had sighed and agreed to split it.) 

He’d just make up the difference in other, smaller ways. Like making sure that their bedroom is the most luxurious space in the house, even if it meant going to five different stores just to find the exact brand of plush pillows he’d slept on in a hotel in London one time years ago. When Tony commits to something he’s all in, which is maybe the only realization he needed to have anyway. 

“ _Honey_ , I’m home,” Tony says eventually, breaking the silence. He finds himself beaming at the smile Steve gives him when he turns around. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve says, crossing the room and leaning in to nuzzle a kiss to Tony’s cheek. “You were gone a long time; I thought you were just grabbing a few things…” He looks questioningly at the bag in Tony’s hand, and the four others that sit at his feet. 

“What _is_ all this?” Steve asks. 

“I got us new pillows.”

“How many pillows do two people need?” Steve is incredulous. brows knitting together adorably as he unpacks three pillows from one bulging bag. 

“Darling, you underestimate me,” Tony says simply. 

“I mean… we have pillows. We both had beds before now.” Steve is so adorably perplexed that Tony can’t help but laugh a little. 

“Those _pancakes_ you had in your apartment no longer qualify as pillows, Steven. Frankly, I don’t know how your neck and back could stand it.”

Steve rolls his eyes, and Tony can almost see him biting his tongue. This was not their first time down this particular road.

“Fine, but what about _your_ pillows? The ones we take off and put back on the bed, the ones we sleep on…”

“Those were fine, but these are magical. You’ll sleep like a baby, I promise. And besides, these are _ours_.”

Steve’s face softens at this, and he stands, bags forgotten on the floor around them as he brushes their lips together once, then again, before resting their foreheads together. His blue eyes sparkle with so much uninhibited _joy_ it threatens to overwhelm Tony completely. 

“You have paint in your hair,” Tony murmurs into Steve’s lips, reaching up to touch it.

“You bought an absurd amount of pillows,” Steve replies with a lopsided smile, taking Tony’s hand from his hair and weaving their fingers together. For a minute they stand there, just like that, paint fumes and more pillows than any two people need, enveloped in joyful silence and each other. 

“Hey,” Steve says quietly, brining a hand up to cup Tony’s jaw. “Welcome home.”


	31. defense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: if you’re taking prompts!!! steve defending tony against someone??! or just protective steve!!!

The hell of it was, Tony hadn’t even wanted to come out tonight. But, as always, he let Ty sweet talk him into doing what he wanted in the hopes of… Of _what_ , exactly, Tony couldn’t say. Lukewarm sex that left him feeling terrible the next morning? Company? No, those things sounded too pathetically close to the truth. He let Ty talk him into it because it was, in a word, easy. Easy to have plans made for him and go along with them. Easy to slip into the same person’s bed every weekend if it meant another weekend at school, away from his parents. 

Now, Tony does his best not to flinch away from the arm Ty wraps around his waist, his hand too big and too tight and too warm at Tony’s hip. There’s something proprietary about the whole thing that makes Tony’s insides turn to mush, and _not_ in the good way. 

So here he is, propped up on a bar stool, debating between one more drink and an Uber home. The drink is simpler, and wouldn’t result in a fight about why Tony abandoned Ty and his friends without a word, but still an undesirable option overall. Tony shuffles out of Ty’s hold, pretending he needs to shift to grab his phone from his pocket. He stares down into it, thinking. It isn’t really late enough to beg off and go home, claiming fatigue. Ty knows better than most about the hours Tony keeps. He could fake an emergency, something with SI, maybe? But Tony’s exhausted just thinking about it, weighing the options to keep the ego of one man in check, and suddenly, he’s had enough. The whole thing is asinine, really. _Stupid_ , Tony thinks to himself. He has a paper due next week, and no shortage of other homework that needs doing, and here he sat, with a guy he doesn’t even really like, and for what? Because it was easy? Tony hadn’t spent his whole life being bullied by Howard Stark to end up with the likes of Tiberius Stone on a Friday night. 

It’s like a switch is flipped in his head, and once the realization hits, Tony wants nothing more than to excuse himself and get home, get away from Ty once and for all.

“I think I’m good for tonight,” Tony says easily, sliding out of his seat and laying forty dollars on the bar. It’s way too much for the single beer he had, but the bartender would deserve it if Ty turned into the drunken mess he becomes nearly every weekend. “See you later,” he adds, not looking at Ty before turning and walking toward the exit. 

_Maybe it really is that simple_ , he thinks as he walks outside, just before a hand grabs his wrist, whirling him around. 

“Why are you being such a dick tonight?” Ty demands, face twisted in an ugly, angry scowl. 

It’s early spring, but the night air is cold enough that Tony can see Ty’s breath as he glares at him. 

“I haven’t even _said_ anything.”

“Exactly, you just sat there, pouting, looking at your phone like you’d rather be anywhere else, and then up and leaving!” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “I’m tired,” he hedges. 

Ty’s eyes have that swimmy, surly look to them, and confronting him now won’t lead anywhere good, Tony knows. He tries to yank his hand away from Ty, but he just moves in closer, pushing Tony backward until he’s flush against the rough, cold brick wall of the bar, Ty breathing heavily over him. 

“Let me go,” Tony grits out. He could punch him fairly easily, but the last thing he needs is the bouncer coming out and calling the cops. Howard would _kill_ him. 

“Come back inside,” Ty says roughly. He loosens his grip on Tony’s wrist just a little, then gives him a look that’s almost pleading. “Please,” he adds, like an afterthought. 

Tony wants to laugh. Might have, if he wasn’t so disastrously close to tears. To think that just minutes ago he was having a _very_ adult realization, and now here he is about to be, what, _punched_ by his weekend hookup? 

“Ty. I’m going home now, okay? Let me _go_.” Tony keeps his voice even, but Ty still doesn’t let go, and Tony’s heart suddenly feels like it’s beating too fast and too slow at the same time. 

“You need me. You’re got nothing without me. No friends, parents who don’t call…”

Ty knew exactly where to hit him where it hurt most, this much is true, but Tony Stark doesn’t _need_ anyone. He’s spent most of his life proving that, to himself and to his parents, so the idea of _needing_ Tiberius Stone is laughable. 

“You’re right. I _need_ _you_ to let me go.” Tony’s voice is louder now, and more breathless.

“He asked you to let him go. I think you should listen.” 

Tony’s head snaps to the side, stunned to see a tall blond guy standing a few feet away from them, his eyes narrowed. His hands are shoved into the pockets of a worn leather jacket, but if his face is anything to go by, Tony would guess they were balled into fists in there. 

“This is between the two of us, if you don’t mind,” Ty says, eyes sliding over just long enough to take in the blond newcomer. 

“Maybe at first, sure. But you’re outside, on public property, threatening someone who has asked you twice now to let him go. I don’t know, I don’t think it would be outlandish to call the police, tell them someone’s being threatened by a drunken brute outside a bar. Sure they see it all the time.” The man says this so evenly it seems to infuriate Ty all the more, and he lets Tony go all at once, shoving him against the wall before turning on Blondie. 

“Fine,” Ty huffs. “We’re done here anyway, right, _Anthony?_ ” He doesn’t wait for an answer before pushing past Steve and making his way back to the rest of his friends at the bar. 

Tony’s gulping in cool night air, shaking all over, trying to compose himself enough to at least thank the guy who saved him, when he hears him clear his throat. 

“You alright?” Blondie looks like he genuinely wants to know, and now that he isn’t looking quite so menacing, Tony notices that his eyes are a bright blue.

“Yeah,” Tony sighs, shaking his head. “Thank you. Really. He gets bad sometimes, but never… He’s not usually like that. I was just leaving, and he followed me out here, and, well… you saw the rest.”

“It’s none of my business, but I hope you really are done with him,” Blondie says, eyes narrowing again. “No one deserves that.”

“Yeah, well. I have bad taste in….friends.” 

“Friends,” the man repeats.

“ _Beneficial_ friends,” Tony says, mouth curving up in a small, regretful smile. “Not many benefits these days.” 

“Yeah. Well.” The man seems to be at a loss now. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He smiles back, anger clearing once and for all and leaving a lovely, earnest face that, in combination with the blue eyes and old jacket, has Tony suddenly desperate to keep him talking. 

“Let me buy you a drink!” Tony says suddenly, surprising both of them. “Not here, obviously. But somewhere else, maybe? To say thank you.”

Blondie stares at him, thinking, before nodding slowly. “Sure, I could have one drink, if you’re really okay? If you want to go home, I completely understand.” 

Tony shakes his head. “I’ll be okay,” he says. “Really. I’m Tony, by the way. _Not_ Anthony.”

“Steve,” Blondie says, and with it, another small, shy smile that seems completely at odds with the look that chased Ty away just a minute ago. 

“Pleasure to meet you, Steve. I know a good place a few blocks from here if you don’t mind a walk?” Somehow, leaving here with Steve feels like the easiest decision Tony’s made all night. 

Steve shakes his head, tucks his hands back into his pockets, and lets Tony lead them. 


	32. baby blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "it brings out your eyes"

Steve’s jittery, his nerves getting the best of him, when he checks his watch for something like the fifth time. _6:05_. He has less than an hour before he needs to get to campus for his senior showcase, and no idea what to wear. It’s his last exhibit, the last time he’ll stand by and explain pieces and watch as parents, professors and friends walk around a studio covered in a years’ worth of photography work. It’s as thrilling as it is enormously sad, and Steve stares into his closet, hoping something will jump out at him. ****

At 6:10, a knock sounds suddenly at his door, and Steve goes flying.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I did knock,” Tony says, smiling and resting a hand on Steve’s shoulder to settle him. It’s warm and heavy and _Tony’s,_ and it’s all Steve can do not to lean into the familiarity of it. From their cramped dorm room freshman year to this, here, the smallish off-campus apartment Steve had grudgingly agreed to. _Grudgingly_ because Tony paid way more in rent than he did, an imbalance Tony insisted didn’t matter because he loved living with Steve, and his parents had more money than they knew what to do with. If it was anyone else, Steve would have refused flat out, but when it came down to living with Tony or not, well… he’d just have to pay him back someday, that’s all. Photograph all of his creations, maybe. Showcase Tony’s own talent.

Now, Steve feels his face warm at Tony’s presence and his own jumpiness, not to mention his inability to pick an outfit from a selection of clothes that was definitely…adequate. He didn’t have the piles of clothes that his design-major roommate had, but he has enough to get by, enough to look nice enough every day, or so he thought.

Steve sighs, dropping down onto the bed. “It’s fine, you didn’t, I’m just… on edge, I guess.” He hazards a look at Tony, still standing by his closet and looking at him like… Well, Steve can’t make out quite like what. Eventually, Tony turns back to the selection of shirts hanging precariously from the closet door and snaps his fingers, like Steve’s problem just became abundantly clear to him. He ponders the choices for another minute, then grabs a deep blue shirt, holding it out to Steve. 

“This one,” Tony says confidently. “It brings out your eyes.” 

“Oh, I… how did you do that? I was staring at those shirts for thirty minutes and they all looked… old or boring or not nice enough,” Steve says incredulously, taking the shirt from Tony and placing it carefully on his bed. 

He definitely does _not_ dwell on the fact that Tony _notices his eyes_. 

“Please, I’m a professional, Steven,” Tony tells him with a wink. He joins Steve on the bed, sitting next to him, close enough that their shoulders brush and their thighs are definitely touching. Steve feels warm all over, happiness buzzing through him. How many moments like this have they had over the years? Nights and mornings and everything in between, smushed together on couches and beds and on the floor, studying? How many quiet moments where Steve could actually _feel_ himself falling for Tony Stark had passed between them? More than he could count.

“Ah, how could I forget? Well, thanks,” Steve says, looking over at Tony only to find that he’s wearing that same incomprehensible look on his face as before. “What?” Steve frowns. 

“Nothing, just thinking. What are you on edge about? Your collection is incredible this year,” Tony says, swiftly changing the subject. He’s a professional at diverting attention away from himself, too. Steve knows this but doesn’t push. 

“Yeah, it’s just weird, this being the last one and everything. I don’t know. It’s silly.” 

“It’s not silly,” Tony says quietly. 

For a second, everything seems to still, and they sit, looking at each other so quietly that Steve can’t help but wonder if Tony knows exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s _wanting_.

“Well, you’ll look amazing tonight, and everyone’s going to love you.” Tony says, breaking the silence and standing. He brushes at invisible lint on his sleeve, and looks at Steve one las time. 

“Good luck tonight, Steve.” Tony gives a little wave as he turns to go, leaving Steve more confused than ever, and with almost no time at all to change. He shakes his head, trying to refocus himself, and slips into the outfit Tony picked out. 

It really does bring out the blue in his eyes, he decides. 

*

Later, Steve’s watching the last of the attendees trickle out, when he jumps for the second time that evening at the sound of Tony’s voice behind him. 

“Wow, who’s this handsome devil?” 

Tony’s pointing to a picture Steve took of him in early spring, while they were out for coffee one afternoon. Tony’s looking at Steve and his camera and smiling, the sun spilling gold onto his hair and making him squint just a little. It’s Steve’s favorite of the collection, but he blushes now, watching Tony look at it. He hadn’t expected him to come and _see it_. 

“What are you doing here?” Steve nearly squeaks, equal parts overjoyed and anxious to see him. 

“You thought I would miss your _last exhibit_ of our college careers? Steven, you think so little of me? I’m wounded,” Tony teases. 

Steve laughs, feeling some of the tension ease out of him. “’Course not, just thought you were busy.” He shrugs.

“ _Wounded_ ,” Tony repeats. 

“The shirt was a hit, by the way,” Steve says, changing the subject. “My mom teared up and called me _her handsome boy_ in front of everyone, which wasn’t embarrassing at all, and my advisor said I look _grown up_. I’m twenty-one, what does he expect?” 

It’s Tony’s turn to laugh now, moving closer to Steve. “See? I’m a professional.” He’s quiet for a minute, looking at Steve, the photos, the shirt, and seems to decide something. “This is amazing, Steve, really. You worked so hard and it all came together perfectly. And…” Tony’s pause seems to stretch out into eternity and Steve _needs_ to know what’s on the other side of the silence. 

“And?” He prompts, heart pounding. 

“And… This really does bring out your eyes,” Tony says finally, almost carefully. He brings a hand to Steve’s face, and it’s like slow motion the way he cups Steve’s cheek in his hand like it’s something precious He meets Steve’s eye, like he’s waiting for a sign that he’s read this all wrong, but Steve just smiles at him, warm all the way down to his fingertips. 

“So you said,” Steve breathes. He’s still smiling when he leans up and brushes their lips together. 

_Finally._

Steve’s spent so much time worrying about everything changing, but he never stopped to consider that some things might just change for the better. And this, here, Tony kissing him back, is so, _so_ much for the better. 


	33. i'll be waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony picks up bucky from the airport after his final tour

**“I** gotta go doll, but I’ll see you tomorrow,” Bucky says when a comfortable silence falls between them. He sounds so far away that Tony has to remind himself that this is the last time they’ll do this. The last time they’ll talk for an allotted amount of time on a crackly line and wonder if his boyfriend remembers what he looks like after so long away. They wrote letters, too, letters Tony knows he’ll keep for the rest of his life, but the phone calls, hearing Bucky’s voice, however far away it might seem, were something special. ****

“Tomorrow,” Tony repeats, nerves fluttering suddenly, sharply inside him. “We did it, Buck. All this time and I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at the airport. You get in around four, right?” Bucky just finished his final tour in the army, and Tony would finally, _finally_ have him home for good. It seems impossible, looking back at the last four years of long goodbyes, of tears and uncertainty, that the moment is actually here. 

“Four, yeah,” Bucky confirms. He’s quiet for another few seconds before he speaks again, softer this time. “We really made it, babydoll. Thanks for stickin’ it out with me.” 

Tony smiles at the sudden appearance of Bucky’s light Brooklyn accent. It always makes a reappearance when he’s nervous, Tony’s learned over the years, and he hopes Bucky can feel him smiling into the phone when he replies.

“You’re stuck with me, Buckybot. So, tomorrow, four o’clock. I’ll be the one with the flowers, embarrassing myself running in public, making a spectacle of myself. Pep will hate me when the photos start coming in, but what else is new?”

Bucky’s laugh is enough to get him through the night, the last few hours they’d spend apart for a long, long time if Tony had anything to say about it. 

*

The next morning passes in a blur, and before he knows it, Tony’s on his way to the airport. He turned down Happy’s offer to drive him; he wanted today to be just the two of them, himself and Bucky and the road in front of them, time on their side for the first time in years. He blasts music as he drives, though he can barely hear the words amidst the nervous excitement he feels. _Bucky’s coming home_. But what if they can’t make it like this? Just two civilians. A regular couple who go out to dinner and make breakfast and coffee and… What if Bucky gets bored? Or what if Tony is too much for him full time? It wouldn’t be the first time.

This train of thought would have continued on its long, rambling way if Tony hadn’t pulled into the airport right then. It’s 3:50, and he has ten minutes to park and make his way to the door and meet Bucky. He grabs the first spot he finds, and, true to his word, breaks into a run at the first sight of his soldier making his way through the revolving airport doors. He’s in full uniform, short hair tucked away under his hat. Tony spares a half second to wonder if he’ll grow it out again, now that he’s home for good, or if he’s used to the short, cropped hair of the last four years. 

The cacophony of cars, of reunions and people picking up loved ones, even his own relentless, doubtful internal monologue, fades away as Tony hurtles across the street and up to Bucky. He gives himself just a few seconds to take him in, all six-feet something of him clad in camo, before launching himself at Bucky in a half-hug, half-tackle that leaves them both breathless. 

“Hi,” Tony mumbles into Bucky’s neck. 

“That’s some welcome,” Bucky laughs. Tony can feel it rumbling through his chest, and buries his face in deeper. 

“Yeah, well, I missed you.” 

“Missed you, too, doll,” Bucky says, lifting Tony’s face so they’re eye to eye and Tony can see the joy in Bucky’s eyes, like he’s every bit as relieved to be home as Tony is to have him home. 

_How_ , Tony wonders as Bucky leans in to bring their lips together, _could he have doubted this?_ He takes Bucky’s bag from his shoulder, slides it onto his own, and takes his hand, leading them to the car, to the rest of their lives.


	34. can i have this dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: can i have this dance?

“Can I have this dance?” Tony surprises Steve, wrapping his arms around his waist and moving him away from the bar, where Steve’s been standing most of the evening. He loves weddings, loves seeing the people he loves so happy and in love and agreeing to spend the rest of their lives together. What Steve definitely does not love, however, not even a little bit, is _dancing_.

“Didn’t even give me a chance to say no,” Steve grumbles despite the smile threatening to make its way over his face.

“That was the plan. If I waited for that then Mister _I-can’t-dance-I’ll-step-on-your-ankles_ would have made an appearance, and I wasn’t taking my chances with that. My ankles will be just fine, Steven. Now, dance with me.” Tony waltzes them around the dance floor, the lights and candles and other guests blurring by until Tony can feel Steve start to relax a little into his arms. 

“Well, it’s true, I _can’t_ dance.”

“No one can dance,” Tony says, and laughs when Steve rolls his eyes doubtfully. “Fine, _I_ can dance, but I had professional dance lessons from the time I was eight. _Eight_. You know how hard it is to make friends when you have to miss birthday parties for _dance lessons?_ ”

“Hmm, I don’t know, was it easier or harder than missing birthday parties because you were too sick or too poor to go?” 

“It’s a draw on this one,” Tony concedes with a smile. When Steve ducks his gaze, suddenly bashful, he pulls him in closer. “Come on, is this _so_ bad?” Tony asks, then kisses the shell of Steve’s ear carefully, watching as he shivers a little at the touch. 

“It could be worse,” Steve admits finally, smiling at Tony. 

“I’ll take it. This is nice.” Tony nods at their surroundings, the tented dance floor covered in lights, the groups of people laughing, the endless flowers. It’s a gorgeous night for an outdoor wedding, and he can’t help but let his mind wander to the idea of a night like this that’s just for them. Surely even Steve will want to dance on their wedding night. 

“It is,” Steve says, the smile still on his lips as they swirl around again.

“Maybe we could have one. You know, someday.” 

“Did you just ask me to marry you? Just like that? I’m not complaining, just thought there’d be a little more to it than a dance,” Steve teases.

“There will be more. Much more,” Tony says seriously. “Did you just… _did you say yes?_ ” 

“Yes,” Steve says simply, and kisses him.


	35. sleepless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "it's okay, i couldn't sleep anyway"

Tony’s neck is ringing. 

Why is his neck ringing? 

Or, well, vibrating, really. _Necks don’t ring,_ he reminds himself, tiredly. It takes a few more seconds before he finds his phone, wedged just beneath him, like he fell asleep looking at it. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sure, he knows about the studies, and the way blue light is supposed to keep you up rather than help you sleep, but sometimes reading on his phone is the only way for Tony to get a few hours of sleep, especially lately.

_Sorry, science._

His stomach goes cold when he looks down and finds a missed call from Steve. It’s only been a few weeks since they’ve spoken, and Tony knows he shouldn’t be _this_ nervous to talk to him. They were best friends before they were anything else, and part of him really wants to believe that they could find their way back to that, even with this much time and distance between them.

Because surely having _some_ of Steve Rogers in his life is better than none at all.

The missed call seems to stare back at him. 

_Steve Rogers_.

Steve, who is nearly four hours away in New York, living with his mom in their cozy apartment, starting at NYU and working part time at Perk Up, the coffee shop where they met. The mural Steve painted on the wall there is what had gotten him into the art program at NYU to begin with. Everything really had started there, Tony thinks, sighing. 

Before he can decide whether or not to call Steve back, or if his heart would survive their first phone call as _friends_ , a text comes in, distracting him. 

_Steve_ , again. 

This time, Tony wastes no time grabbing at his phone. Maybe something’s wrong. It _is_ nearly three in the morning, and Steve always falls asleep early; it’s endearing, really. Tony used to tease him for being more like an old man than a teenager, and his heart squeezes in his chest, thinking about all the times he’d look up from his homework to find Steve dozing on the couch, pale blond hair falling into his face as he slept, only to blink awake an hour later, smiling sleepily over at Tony. 

Tony shakes his head and forces himself to read the message. 

_Sorry to call so late, I’m sure you’re sleeping. Or maybe you’re out, who knows. I just had to do this now or I knew I’d lose my nerve. Can we talk?_

Tony wishes he could even _pretend_ like he doesn’t want exactly that. To pick up his phone and call Steve and tell him about his first two weeks at MIT. He can almost picture him, draped across his bed in his room. He’d be looking at his phone, twisting up his hands and probably biting his lip until it turns just a little too red. Unfairly cute.

Tony waits exactly two and a half minutes before texting back. 

_I’m awake._

When his phone rings again a few seconds later, Tony clears his throat a few times before answering. 

“Hi,” Steve says, so warm and familiar it makes something inside Tony ache. It’s like he’s right here in bed with him rather than hundreds of miles away.

“Hi,” Tony repeats, voice sleep-rough and low. 

“I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“No, no, it’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” It’s a lie, but a small one. 

“I’ll pretend I believe you.” 

Tony smiles. Steve knows him too well for even tiny white lies. 

“So…”

Steve’s quiet for an endless minute, and then: “So, I don’t know. I really miss you.”

Tony closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. _I really miss you_. 

“Yeah,” he says finally. “I really miss you, too.” 

“Good,” Steve says, relief clear in his voice. “That’s…good. Because I was thinking…”

“A good thing to do every now and then.” Tony smiles when Steve huffs a laugh on the other end.

“I just… I was so busy worrying that we’d miss out on something by trying to make this work, and I didn’t want that for either of us, but…”

There’s another long pause. “You’re killing me here, Steve,” Tony breathes. 

“Right, sorry. I just… what if the thing we miss out on is _us_? Because we didn’t even try? I think I’d hate that even more,” Steve finishes. 

“I already hate it,” Tony confesses. It sounds so small compared to the myriad feelings rushing through him, but he knows that Steve gets it. He always had. 

“So maybe we can see how it goes? Before we rush into breaking up. Because every day I just… really wanted to talk to you.”

Tony’s eyes sting as relief threatens to bowl him over because _Steve felt the same way._

_“_ I knew it would be weird not seeing you every day,” Tony says, “But this was so much _worse_.”

“Good, because I’m, uh…” Steve goes quiet again, just for a second, before there’s a soft knock on Tony’s door. 

Tony throws his phone onto the bed and hurls himself across the room to fling the door open to find Steve on the other side. He looks sheepish and exhausted but he’s _here_ , and Tony really might just cry now. 

“Hi,” Steve says, smiling widely. “So, can I come in?”

Tony doesn’t let Steve take another step before flinging himself at him in the longest, tightest hug he can muster.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve murmurs into Tony’s shoulder. 


	36. long weekend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: tony making workaholic steve stay at home for a long weekend and basically just letting him be the little spoon and taking care of him in the way steve usually takes care of tony

The first thing Steve notices when he wakes up is how warm he is. The sun is bright enough that the room is bathed in soft morning light, but not enough that it’s intrusive. _It’s nice_ , Steve thinks, distantly. His brain is still fuzzy with sleep when he peeks at the clock and sees that it’s not quite seven. He figures he can indulge in a few extra minutes in bed before his alarm goes off; it’s been so long since he slept in, and the bed is so comfortable…

Steve shifts, attempting to pull the comforter around him a little tighter, and realizes it’s not blankets keeping him warm at all. Or at least, not entirely. It’s Tony, curled in impossibly close, his arms wrapped around Steve’s middle, sleeping peacefully. There’s something careful, protective about the way Tony’s holding him, latched on like a shell on a turtle, and Steve can’t help but smile at the thought, pressing his face back into his pillow. 

He’s warm inside and out, and decides that a little more sleep is probably a good thing. 

*

When Steve wakes up again, the sun is streaming brightly through the windows, and he’s alone in bed. He mourns the lack of contact and stretches himself out across the bed, a super-soldier sized starfish. Steve’s mid-yawn when Tony walks back into the room, two mugs of coffee in hand. He smiles when he sees that Steve’s awake.

“I leave the room for five minutes, bring us _sustenance_ , and this is how he repays me. Steals my spot right out from under me.” Tony pretends to pout before handing Steve a mug, the scent of coffee permeating the room. 

“Just keeping it warm for you.” Steve leans over, kissing Tony’s cheek in thanks. “What time is it?” He asks, almost as an afterthought. 

“Noonish?” Tony shrugs. 

“ _Noonish?_ Like _twelve_? In the afternoon? Tony, why didn’t you wake me up!” Steve hasn’t slept this long since… well, _ever._

_“_ Ah ah,” Tony clucks his tongue. “Have we forgotten? It’s Steve weekend, sweetheart. The goal is for you to do as little as possible. Sleeping in is _encouraged_.”

Steve _had_ almost forgotten, he was so wrapped up in Tony and coffee and _bed_.

It was Tony’s idea, of course. Steve had come home from a mission last week covered in bruises that, admittedly, looked bad and felt worse. Tony had taken one look at him and seemed to tense all over, leading Steve silently to the bathroom for a long, hot shower, during which he traced the bruising with careful, soapy fingers and muttered nonsense: _I love you_ and _please stop this,_ and _you work too much._ He looked, Steve remembered thinking, like it caused him physical pain to see Steve like that. After, Tony led them back to their room, sat Steve on the bed, and nearly begged him to take a break. His face was so pleading, so earnest in a way Tony Stark never is, that of course Steve had agreed. 

“Well, I certainly slept in,” Steve says now, smiling when Tony scoots in close and wraps an arm around his waist. “Though, you know, _sustenance_ usually refers to _food_ , not coffee.”

“That’s the spirit.” Tony beams over at him. “Pancakes come next,” he promises. “But for now…” Tony sets his own mug aside and hugs Steve to him again. He seems to breathe him in, like he’s checking to make sure Steve’s really there, all in one piece. The bruises are long gone, the serum had taken care of that, but Tony traces where they’d once been, callused hands making careful work of Steve’s skin, until he’s left once again feeling unmistakably _safe_ here. 

“Hey,” Steve captures Tony’s mouth with his, lets his hand linger at Tony’s jaw as he looks at him. 

“Hi,” Tony murmurs, suddenly quiet, like he can feel it, too. 

“Thank you.”

Tony nods and kisses him, soft and unhurried. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t have to. They lay there a while longer, listening to the quiet. 


	37. me first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after a health scare, tony demands that steve let him die first

When Steve blinks awake, Tony’s first thought is: _Thank god he’s not dead._ It’s quickly followed by: _I can’t live without him._ And finally _:_ _I’ll kill him if he dies on me_. 

They were sitting down to dinner when it happened. Steve had complained that the room was too warm a few times, and Tony adjusted the thermostat a few degrees to cool him off. Tony hadn’t thought anything of it, really, until his husband was suddenly gripping his chest, staring into the stir fry Tony made for dinner, and quietly explaining that he “couldn’t breathe quite right.” 

Tony flew into action, calling 911, making sure Steve knew he was right there with him, but it was _terrifying_ , the way he was clutching at his chest and looking up at Tony like he depended on him to help, to make it hurt less. 

Tony had never felt quite so helpless.

“I’m right here, okay? I’m right here.” Tony had squeezed Steve’s hand in his with everything he had. “An ambulance is coming, alright? Can you just… Steve? Can you just focus on staying with me?” How Tony had gotten the words out he still doesn’t know. He thinks of those stories, the mothers lifting school buses to save their children or whatever the fuck else, and thinks, dimly, maybe it was the adrenaline that let him keep himself together. 

The hospital was a blur of doctors and beeping and _tubes_ , god, Steve shouldn’t be hooked up to so many tubes. It was _Steve_ for crying out loud, the former _Captain America_ could breathe just fine on his own, thank you very much _._

Except that, right now, he couldn’t. 

Tony let Rhodey console him over the phone. He told Peter where he was, and was still surprised when he and MJ showed up and sat with him, holding his hands and asking nurses for updates and bringing him putrid hospital coffee when they ran out of other ways to feel useful. 

Tony felt sick. He didn’t know what he would do if… If Steve… 

“Mr. Stark?” A nurse’s voice interrupts his horrible thoughts, and he leaps out of his waiting room chair, nearly knocking it over in the process. 

“Yes. _YES_. That’s me. Rogers-Stark, really, but that doesn’t matter. I mean it matters, but you know. Is he okay? Can I see him? God, please say I can see him,” Tony babbles. 

“You can see him. Your husband’s going to be just fine, Mr. Rogers-Stark. A very scary bout of angina, that’s all. A lot of people wind up here thinking it’s a heart attack just like you did.” 

_Thank god. Thank fucking_ god _._

_“_ God, what is that? What does that m—” Tony stops, shoves a hand through his hair, and thinks again. “You know what, tell me later. Take me to Steve now, please.” 

The nurse smiles, understanding etched into her skin, and leads Tony to Steve’s room. There are still tubes, still too much beeping for Tony’s liking, but there’s— Steve’s there. He’s blinking himself awake and looking over at Tony now and just. _Thank god._

Tony just about collapses himself at the sight of those blue eyes gazing blearily over at him.

_“_ Tony,” Steve mumbles, reaching out a hand. Tony wastes no time grabbing it as tightly as he can, lifting it to his lips and saying, quietly:

“I’m right here. You’re okay, the nurse says you’re going to be okay.” He repeats it a few times, for himself or for Steve he isn’t sure. 

“You scared the _shit_ out of me,” Tony says, and as he does, he realizes he’s crying. 

_When had that started?_

_“_ I’m so sorry, sweetheart,”Steve says earnestly. He hasn’t let go of Tony’s hand, and Tony might never let him.

“You’re—You can’t—” Tony takes a shuddering breath. “I’m dying first,” he proclaims. “I demand to go first. You’re _not_ leaving me here, Steven Grant Rogers-Stark.” 

_Impossible_. He knows it’s impossible, what he’s saying, but his rational mind went out the door the second he dialed the second _one_ in _nine-one-one._

And Steve, god damn him, has the nerve to _laugh_. Like Tony was _joking_ or something, and he hadn’t almost-but-not-quite had a _heart attack_. 

“I’m serious!” 

Steve’s face goes somber, and he squeezes Tony’s hand. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, you can go first.” 

“Good,” Tony sighs. He’s still crying, still feels like a balloon deflated in his own chest tonight, and tightens his hold on Steve’s hand before asking. “Is there room for me in there?” 

Steve shifts before smiling again. It’s tired and scared and sad, probably, after this conversation, but he nods. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

Tony wraps himself around his husband, careful of the wires and the tubes, and the beeping, which, for once, doesn’t sound so ominous. Instead it reminds him, along with the gentle rise and fall of Steve’s chest, that they were okay. They were going to be just fine, in time. 

_Thank god._


	38. not a vegetable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when they retire, tony plants a tomato garden

Tony’s tying up the last of his tomato plants when Steve comes over to bring him inside. It’s a beautiful day, perfect for gardening, and Tony took full advantage, tending to his ever-growing garden for most of the day while Steve read on the patio, a glass of lemonade at his elbow. Tony would be lying if he said he didn’t get distracted every now and again, looking over at him, at the way the sun reflected in his silvery-gold hair and beard, making him look almost ethereal. 

Steve almost always managed to catch him at it, looking up from his book at just the right moment with a knowing, fond little smile and _winking_ at him. Steve Rogers, retired, drinking lemonade and winking playfully at Tony across their backyard. If anyone had told Tony this is where he would end up, he’d have laughed. Not because of Steve, though. God, no. 

Not even because of how stupidly domestic they’ve become. 

No, it was that, for all his futurist ways, Tony had never imagined a future where he got to be _this_ happy. It still struck him, on days like this one, how lucky he is. How lucky _they_ are. 

“You know, I never would have taken you for a green thumb, back in the day,” Steve says thoughtfully. Strong arms wind around Tony’s waist and he smiles as Steve drops kisses along his jaw, trailing slowly along to the shell of Tony’s ear. “Now look at you. The vegetables get more attention than I do,” Steve teases. Tony can hear the smile in his voice. 

He _loves_ that he can hear it.

“Technically, tomatoes are a fruit, not a vegetable, so.”

Steve’s laugh rumbles through them, deep and easy as ever. “So the _fruit_ gets more attention than I do.”

Tony twists in Steve’s arms, shooting one last look at the tomatoes, now standing securely in their round cages, before giving his full attention to Steve. His hair is pushed back, and the setting sun glints in his blue eyes, making them shine. He’s wearing what Tony lovingly calls his old man sweater: gray, worn to death, and soft to the touch, it’s Steve’s favorite thing to wear around the house, and Tony’s favorite thing to steal from Steve’s side of the closet when he gets cold. 

“You do okay,” Tony says, kissing the bridge of Steve’s nose lightly. A day in the sun had brought out his freckles, smattering them across his nose and cheeks in a way Tony could never resist. 

“I do okay,” Steve agrees, still smiling when he brings their lips together. 

“And what’s this about not expecting me to have a green thumb? You doubt my ability to bring _life_ into this world?” Tony pretends to pout. 

“I just remember a time in the not-so-distant past when _someone_ struggled to keep themselves fed and watered, let alone a yard full of vegetables.”

“And _fruits_ ,” Tony reminds him. He leans in, kisses the laugh from Steve’s lips. Tony could admit he _kind of_ had a point. 

“What can I say, I’m a changed man. And you’ll be grateful for all the attention I’ve been giving these bad boys in a few weeks. Homemade tomato sauce is worth it. I’m telling you, you’ll be thanking me.” 

“Fine, but if I find you out here talking to them I’m putting my foot down.”

Tony pretends to consider this. “Deal. Now, should we go in and start dinner?” He brushes his hands on his jeans and links their hands together for the short walk to the house.

“Well, it won’t be homemade sauce, but I think we can manage something,” Steve says, grinning at him. 

Tony rolls his eyes. “Just you wait, Steven Rogers-Stark. You will rue the day you doubted my tomato plants. _Rue the day!_ ” 

Lucky for them, they had all the time in the world. 


	39. laundry day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: folding laundry and putting it away

“Have you seen my army sweatshirt? The one with the little rip in the collar? I think it has a bleach spot on the hem, too… But I can’t find it anywhere,” Steve huffs. 

“Maybe because you keep your drawers in worse shape than a college kid? Seriously, sweetheart, drawer separators are your friend. Don’t get me started on the occasional use of hangers, Steven, it’s wild. You put a shirt over it, hang it in the closet, and—” Tony pauses to gasp for dramatic effect, “—they’ll be right where you left them when you need them.” 

Steve sighs. “I know, I know, but believe it or not, I _do_ know where things, are. It’s organized chaos.” 

“Doesn’t seem like you know where that sweatshirt is though, does it?” Tony teases. 

“I _usually_ know where things are,” Steve defends. “Come on, did you steal it again? It’s okay if you did, the sleeves are a little short on me, anyway…”

Tony shakes his head. “Messy _and_ clearly in desperate need of a shopping trip!”

“Oh no, not again, Tony. We just went… uh,” Steve trails off, trying to think when it was that Tony last dragged him to his favorite, astronomically expensive boutiques for new clothes. 

“Six months ago!” Tony crows. “But that’s not the point, so you’re safe for today.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. He loves how generous his husband is, always wanting to shower him in new clothes, the softest cashmere sweaters and Italian leather shoes that even Steve has to admit felt heavenly, but sometimes, all he wants is one of his favorite, if battered, pieces.

“Thank god,” Steve says, giving Tony a smile. “I’ll be looking for this all day since _someone_ wants to lecture me rather than help.”

Tony mumbles something under his breath. Steve can’t quite make it out, but he definitely hears the word _hopeless_ in there. 

“Last drawer on the right,” Tony says finally, perching himself on the edge of their bed to wait. 

Steve pulls the drawer open and whirls around. “Did you do this?” The contents of the drawer are perfectly folded, the faded green army sweatshirt tucked lovingly on top. 

“Might’ve taken the liberty of pulling everything out of the dryer before Hurricane Steve could get to it,” Tony confesses, smiling slyly. “I know you hate it. And you’re _terrible_ at it, as previously mentioned.”

Steve looks at Tony, sitting on their bed in his own favorite weekend home clothes, and smiles, fondness warming through him. It’s a simple thing, really, Tony putting his clothes away so carefully, but it makes him feel cared for in a way he can’t quite put a name to. “Thank you, Tony. I’m sorry I accused you of stealing it.”

“You’re a _menace,”_ Tony chides, but he’s smiling too, looking appreciatively at Steve as he changes into the beloved shirt.

“Yeah, yeah. We can go shopping next weekend, will that make up for it?”

Tony tugs Steve down beside him on the bed, bringing their lips together. “Mm, we’ll figure something out.” 


	40. written in the sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: tracing their name in the sand

Tony thought he was prepared for the rush of emotions that came with getting married. That’s what he _did._ He prepared, thought out contingencies and back up plans. He could often name ten worst-case scenarios where most people only saw one. For this, though, he knew he wouldn’t need any of those things. 

His proposal to Steve six months ago had been well thought out but simple; he knew that’s what Steve would want. They’d both cried and agreed that a small wedding with just the people closest to them was what they wanted. A small wedding was really more than fine with Tony. He’d had a lifetime’s worth of big, flashy events where he ended up feeling lost, adrift in a herd of people. All that really mattered was that he was marrying Steve, joining their lives together forever. 

_Forever_. 

It should have sent him into a tailspin of panic, and maybe ten years ago it would have. But until the moment they found themselves at the front of a room full of their friends and family, tears burningly hotly, happily, in their eyes, Tony wanted nothing more than to make that idea, that _forever_ , a reality. 

So, Tony hadn’t been able to plan for the onslaught of feelings that continues to crash over him, even now, days after the ceremony. The wedding had been small and perfect, and though he did a good bit of the planning himself, Tony could hardly tell you who was there aside from himself and Steve. 

And now here they are, out of their room and sprawled on the beach for the first time in three days, Steve dozing in the sun and looking more relaxed than he had in a year at least. His eyes are shut, sunglasses pushed up into his sandy blond hair, and Tony can’t believe they’re here. That he’s laying on a beach in paradise beside his _husband._ He’s torn between waking Steve up to share his happiness and disbelief for the millionth time since they arrived, and letting him rest. 

He replays it all in his mind, the vows, the dance, the smile that didn’t leave Steve’s lips all night, and plays with the sand absently. Tony’s not sure how long he sits like that, lost in his own reverie, before Steve wakes up, laughing softly. 

“Scared you’ll forget?” He gestures to the sand, where Tony had traced _Rogers-Stark_ at their feet, and smiles. 

Tony hears it like it’s happening all over again. _Ladies and gentlemen,_ f _or the first time, Mr. and Mr. Rogers-Stark_ , and shakes his head.

“Not in a million years. Just happy,” Tony says, turning to Steve. “Just thinking…”

Steve reaches down and takes Tony’s sand-covered hand in his own. “Want to share?”

“Just how perfect is was. _Is.”_ Tony’s at risk of tearing up all over again, and he stops there. He knows Steve knows. 

“It was the perfect day,” Steve agrees, meeting Tony’s eye. “In a way, I can’t believe it’s over, but at the same time…”

Tony squeezes his hand and finishes for him. “It’s just starting.”

Steve nods, eyes bright and as full of emotion as Tony’s. Sure, the tide would come in and wash the words away, but _this_ , he and Steve, that’s here to stay. 


	41. nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: calming them down when they have a bad dream

Even before Afghanistan, Tony was no stranger to nightmares. 

When he was growing up, they almost always involved failing a test even though he’d spent days studying, and knew the material like the back of his hand. Sometimes he’d forget about the exam altogether, and Howard’s face would twist horribly, letting Tony know all at once what was coming. 

Then he was a little older, and he dreamed of car crashes, all screeching tires and shattered glass, blinding headlights and splintering branches. In those dreams, Tony was always watching from somewhere just far enough away, and he was always screaming, trying to warn them. His parents. _The tree!_ He would scream himself hoarse, though nothing ever came out, and they crashed, every time. 

How many nights had Rhodey quietly crossed the room and sat with him? He’d wrap his arms around Tony’s shoulders and let his roommate tremble against him until he was calm enough to sleep again. _You’re okay, Tones, you’re okay._

And then, well, Afghanistan. Waterboarding and car batteries and a terrible, irreparable hollowness in his chest. Obadiah _ripping his heart out._ Wormholes and aliens and falling, falling, _falling_.

But while there was no shortage of nightmare fuel, there was the team, and his projects, green energy and Pepper’s relentless faith in him. Then, of course, there was Steve. Because after the wormhole and the aliens and the falling, Tony had opened his eyes, and there he was, smiling down at him. Steve Rogers: Blond-haired, blue-eyed, calisthenics extraordinaire who drove him crazy and rarely understood his very funny references. 

Tony felt like the ground beneath him was shifting all over again at that smile, in an entirely new way. Part of him wondered if it was just because it was Steve’s smiling, hopeful face he saw when he first opened his eyes, but a deeper piece of him knew they would have ended up here eventually, together. 

Together, where the nightmares are fewer and further between, though not altogether gone. 

Now, when Tony jolts awake at night, clutching onto sheets and shaking, Steve’s there, reminding him that he’s okay, that it was just a dream. 

“I’m here,” murmured so carefully, followed by a gentle press of lips to eyelids, like a balm to his subconscious, that Tony can’t help but nod, soothed. Sure, for the first time in his adult life, that he wasn’t left to face the darkness alone. 


	42. tissues and motzo ball soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: throwing away their piles of tissues when they have a cold

At first, Tony thinks he’s dreaming when he hears the sound of Steve’s voice somewhere near the foot of his bed. His head is stuffy enough to make just about anything feel like a fuzzy, DayQuil-induced dream at this point anyway. He groans, burrowing himself deeper into the cocoon of blankets he’d pilfered from all over the apartment. 

Something prods at Tony’s foot, and the voice sounds again. “Tony? It’s me.” It’s soft and uncertain but undeniably Steve’s, making relief and panic swell through him in equal measure. Steve wasn’t supposed to be here, not when Tony felt like _this_.

Tony sniffles tentatively, then dies inside, remembering the crumbled tissues and various mugs scattered all over his nightstand and probably (okay, definitely) the bed. His heart sinks. Perfect Steve, with his room that was always almost aggressively organized and his artfully styled hair, is probably a _perfect_ sick person, while Tony, on the other hand, is a walking disaster. 

“Steve?” Tony rouses himself from the blankets and into something resembling a sitting position. He does his best to ignore the state of his hair and face, but he knows his nose is probably all red and his face is definitely pale, and Steve is probably on his way out the door at the sight of him…

“Hi, sweetheart,” Steve says, smiling and walking over to Tony’s side of the bed. He looks freshly showered with his hair still faintly damp, and in his hand is a bag from Tony’s favorite little deli. He blinks a few time, heart threatening to burst at the pet name, not to mention the bag that definitely held his favorite matzo ball soup. They hadn’t been together very long, just a few months, and things like this, being called _sweetheart_ and having someone to check up on him, still made Tony’s chest go to mush. 

“Hi,” Tony says. “I’m dying.”

Steve laughs, placing the paper bag on the floor before leaning over and brushing Tony’s hair away from his forehead and pressing a kiss to the skin beneath. “I don’t think you’re _dying_ , but you definitely sound sick.” 

Tony makes a dubious sound, struggling to shift around enough in the hope that Steve might sit with him on the bed.

“I brought you something,” Steve tells him, lifting the bag again. “Matzo ball soup, and one of those brownies you like. And Gatorade. For, uh, hydration. I didn’t know what color, so I got blue, because that’s what I like,” he babbles, like he’s suddenly nervous he crossed some kind of line with his care package. 

“The only kind worth drinking,” Tony says mildly, but he knows Steve hears the little hitch of emotion in his voice. It’s just… no one does stuff like this for Tony, not ever. Well, Jarvis, when he was really little, but since he’s been on his own? Never. Tony gives his head a shake, but that just leads to a coughing fit, and Steve rummages around to pull out said Gatorade.

“Thanks,” Tony says, voice raspy and tired.

“Of course.” Steve grabs Tony’s small trashcan and makes quick work of the mess, sliding the tissues off of the nightstand and bed and into the trash before sitting down beside Tony and pressing another kiss to his cheek. A lump works its way into Tony’s throat. It’s such a small thing, except it isn’t, because it’s _Steve_ and he’s here, with his bag of soup and Gatorade, and Tony had been prepared to while away the hours in bed alone, and now he wouldn’t have to. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Tony adds. 

“I know,” Steve squeezes his hand. “But I wanted to. No one likes being sick alone.” 

Tony can’t argue with that, so he just squeezes Steve’s hand back. 

“Think you’re up for a movie? I can heat this up and we can watch whatever bad ‘80s movie you want. I won’t even complain this time.” Steve’s face says otherwise, and Tony can’t help but laugh. 

“Sounds perfect.”


	43. breakable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: washing their back/hair in the shower for them

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Tony looks up at the sound of Steve’s voice from the doorway, though it’s ragged and tired enough that he doesn’t have to see his husband to know this most recent mission must have been a rough one. Sure enough, when Tony turns, Steve’s face is more wince than anything, despite what’s clearly an attempt at a smile.

Part of Tony hates this, that he has to brace himself to see what shape Steve might show up in. Another, much larger part of him is just thankful to have Steve back in their bedroom in one piece. Years ago, this was all just part of the job, just another part of their lives together. Now, though, Steve isn’t even supposed to _be_ in the field. Retirement was supposed to be for both of them, aside from the occasional call for backup. The problem, of course, is that Steve can never find it in him to say no, which means those calls start coming with increasing frequency.

Which is how they end up here, with Steve gone for weeks at a stretch, leaving Tony to think himself into a panic attack as he waits for him to get back, wondering if this would be it, the time Steve doesn’t come back at all.

“Hi, darling,” Tony says, the pet name slipping out on a sharp exhale. Because he really does hate this; hates that he knows, just by the way Steve’s holding himself just so, that his ribs are bruised but luckily not broken, or Tony would be picking him up from medical right now. He hates the long periods of silence, and the look on Steve’s face, drawn and gray, that lingers for days when he gets back from a job like this one.

Tony attempts to mask these thoughts from his face, though he knows it’s a wasted effort, that Steve can see right through him. They took those kinds of walls down years ago, and it isn’t worth it to build them back up now.

“Tony.” Steve’s voice breaks Tony from his reverie. He looks truly exhausted, shadow-eyed and frayed, like this time might have felt different for him, too.

Tony just nods, crosses the room in a few quick steps, and wraps his arms around his husband as carefully as he can, thankful to feel the reassuring, warm weight of Steve all around him. Warm and solid and _home_. Steve hugs him in close, nosing into Tony’s hair and breathing deeply, his own form of reassurance. They stand like that for a few minutes, breathing each other in, before Tony leans up and presses a kiss to Steve’s mouth, soft and warm as ever, despite everything.

“Nothing’s broken, right?” Tony asks, just to be sure. Just to hear Steve say it.

Steve shakes his head, and Tony breathes a small sigh of relief, tracing a line along the nape of Steve’s neck, just because he can, because Steve’s _here_ , safe and sound. “Good. I’m getting way too good at putting you back together again.” 

Steve just huffs a humorless laugh, and lets Tony lead them to the bathroom.

“Alright soldier, I’m thinking shower, painkillers, then bed. And food, if you’re up for it.”

Steve nods, still quiet, as Tony runs the water until it’s good and hot, letting the room fill with steam before helping Steve out of his tac pants and undershirt and into the shower. A few minutes under the hot spray does Steve a world of good, washing away the grime of the fight and the trip home, and while Tony can see the tension start to melt off of him, he can’t help but notice the splotches of bruises that cover Steve’s back, arms, and chest.

Tony kisses his shoulder as gently as he can manage. The rational side of him knows they’ll be gone in a day or two, thanks to the serum, but he just wishes he could—

“Just looking at you hurts,” Tony murmurs, then realizes there is _something_ he can do, however small. 

The scent of their citrus shampoo permeates through the steam as Tony makes careful, methodical work of Steve’s hair, carding gently through the strands and smiling when Steve’s eyes slip shut almost immediately. Steve has never been one for fussing, but he’d stopped denying himself these small moments of comfort years ago, and for that, Tony is thankful. He rinses Steve’s hair and massages his scalp, working down to his shoulders and the nape of his neck, until he feels more than hears Steve’s soft sigh.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says after a beat. His eyes open again, still tired and hurting, but grateful, too. “For, you know.” He gestures around them.

Tony presses a kiss to the back of his neck, chasing down a drop of water. “I know.”

When they make their way to bed, Steve doesn’t hesitate before wrapping himself up around Tony, unwinding a bit more, breath by breath. Tony thinks he might have fallen asleep that quickly, until he hears him suck in a deep breath. 

“What if this was the last one? For good, this time.”

Eventually, Tony would hear the whole story. When Steve was ready to tell him, he’d be there to listen. For now, though, Tony just presses a kiss to the top of his husband’s head and nods, relief coursing through him.

“If that’s what you want, you know I support you. I never wanted to force you out, you know that.”

Steve smiles, like storm clouds finally giving way to sun. “I know. I want to. I think it’s time.” 

“Then I think that’s good. Besides, that means more of you for me,” Tony says easily. “I can be selfish that way.” 

Steve laughs, like he already feels lighter, and nuzzles into Tony’s chest until he laughs along with him. “I’ll call Fury in the morning.”


	44. homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the prompt: "i'm just going to ....I'm good now, thank you"

The first time Tony stays the night in Steve’s room is an accident, really. He’d been gone on a business trip for two weeks, and he _knows_ , okay. He knows he told Steve they didn’t have to talk about it, this —whatever it is they’re doing. 

And they didn’t. 

They _don’t_. 

But Tony missed Steve from the moment he boarded the plane to London to the time he walked off again in New York, and even if he didn’t say it out loud, well, he’s sure the sentiment comes through loud and clear anyway. Because they don’t even do anything, that night he gets back. Tony showers and throws on clothes that haven’t been packed in a suitcase for weeks and all but _jogs_ to the elevator, because the way he misses Steve is like an ache, a bruise he can’t help but poke at, just to see if it’s still there. 

_(It is.)_

From the moment Steve opens the door, though, that frenetic, frantic energy their nights together often have is gone, leaving behind something new, something quieter. Something, Tony guesses, they’d have to talk about eventually. And maybe it’s clear how he feels, written on his face the way these things tend to be. Surely Steve can see it, because he just _looks_ at Tony for a long while, his face softening bit by bit. He’s happy to see him, Tony knows that much has always been true, but the way Steve is looking at him now is more than that. 

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” Tony says, hazarding a smile after another beat of silence. “But I wanted to say hi, let you know I’m back, and—”

“Please don’t apologize, Tony,” Steve says, voice soft and serious. 

“Right. Well, I’m back, and I already said hi, so… I’m just going to…” 

Tony trails off again because there’s so much he wants to do, so many things he knows they need to say but, well. There’s one thing he wanted most, every minute of those two weeks away, so he wraps his arms around Steve’s neck and hugs him as tightly as he can manage, for as long as he thinks is okay, before he leans in and brings their mouths together, soft and warm and wanting _._

It’s a little scary, the way being here with Steve like this is what really feels like coming home. 

When they break apart, though, Steve’s smiling, and he leans their foreheads together gently. “Thank you. I’m good now,” Tony confirms. 

Steve presses a kiss to his forehead and lifts him up, like Tony weights no more than bag of groceries, and places him on his bed. It’s warm, the blankets pulled down, almost like Steve was waiting for him, too, and Tony feels his muscles turn to liquid at the easy softness of Steve’s sheets. 

_Home_. The word echoes through him again, a familiar warmth unfurling in his chest. Maybe he should just _tell_ Steve. That look in his eyes before, that couldn’t have been for nothing. 

But Tony is so comfortable, and Steve’s sliding into bed beside him, wrapping his arms around him like he’ll never let Tony leave this spot again, and, well. Tony’s only human. His eyes feel impossibly heavy; it really had been the longest day, and before he can say anything else, he’s falling asleep. But he’s still just awake enough to register a second kiss to his forehead, the one that lingers, soft and slow and _tender._

Even his subconscious isn’t cruel enough to dream up something that felt so incredibly real. 

*

It’s late morning when they wake up, and Tony realizes all at once that Steve is still there, pressed in close beside him. He blinks himself awake and dares to look to his left, only to find Steve’s bright blue eyes already open and undeniably happy. 

“Morning,” Steve says, leaning over to bring their lips together, just once, quick and chaste, but warm and comfortable enough that Tony promises himself that today is the day. He has to say something. He has to, because he doesn’t think he’s strong enough to give this up and go back to the way things were. Quick and passionate and over way too soon every time.

“G’morning,” Tony mumbles, kissing Steve’s shoulder. There’s freckles there, he realizes with a pang. What else would he learn if they kept this up? 

He can’t wait to find out.

“I’m really glad you came over,” Steve says softly. “And stayed. I really… I missed you a lot.”

_Oh._

_“_ And I know you said we don’t have to be— we don’t have to call it anything, but… I thought you should know,” Steve continues, voice achingly honest. 

“I’m glad too,” Tony says, relief and joy fighting for dominance in his formerly hollow chest. “Missed you. …Pretty much the whole time,” he admits. 

In the end, it’s a lot less terrifying than he built it up to be. Steve’s face lights up, and he hugs him tightly, like he had last night, and really, after that, what is there for Tony to do but kiss him, long and sure that this is only the first morning of many spent like this? 


	45. nicknames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony uses lots of pet-names for steve, but gets overwhelmed when he returns the sentiment

“Morning, Elsa.” Tony’s already in the kitchen when Steve comes back from his run, and he looks around, confused. Was he supposed to be Elsa?

Tony smirks, patting him on the shoulder as he gets up to pour himself another cup of coffee. “Elsa. The ice queen. From _Frozen?_ Y’know, since you…”

Steve’s face heats. “Yeah, I get it, Tony, thanks.” 

Tony grins. 

*

“Head’s up! Over here!” 

Steve turns at the sound of Tony’s voice, moving instinctively toward him. 

They’re a good team, it’s undeniable, moving nearly in unison in a way Steve never would have expected. Natasha says they’re two sides of the same coin, but Steve thinks that’s a bit much. They work well together, that’s all. This kind of statement always earns him an eye roll.

“Good timing, Cap,” Tony says appreciatively as they turn together, just in time to stop a blow that comes out of nowhere. 

Steve can hear the smile in Tony’s voice, even with the faceplate firmly in place.

*

“Got this for you, Bomb Pop,” Tony says, holding out one of two red, white, and blue popsicles for Steve to take. His eyes are playful, a smirk working its way over his lips as Steve shakes his head. “Figured it’s only fitting.”

“Hard to picture Tony Stark chasing down the ice cream man,” Steve says with a raised eyebrow. It’s good though, ice cold and sweet, perfect for a hot day like this. 

“There were some kids outside who were a few dollars short. Thought I’d help them out. Couldn’t _not_ get something while I was at it.”

Steve smiles, takes another bite of the frozen treat in his hand. 

Yeah, s _weet._

*

“Morning, darling.” Tony’s voice is low and sleep-rough, and Steve can feel the words on his skin as much as he can hear them. He rolls over, thinking, like he always does, that nothing, _nothing_ compares to a rare moment like this. Tony, relaxed and warm beside him, nowhere to be for a good few hours yet. 

“We should do nothing more often,” Steve says without opening his eyes. He wants to stay here, exactly like this, for as long as they can. Quiet, unmoving, soft kisses and morning light. 

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Tony agrees. He threads a hand through Steve’s hair so gently it’s not long before Steve feels his eyes fall shut again. 

*

“Steve, baby, can you hear me?” Tony’s voice is the first thing Steve hears when he comes to. It’s nothing like he’s used to hearing, all fond, playful affection. Instead, Tony’s voice is splintered, exhausted. “I’m right here, okay? Just. Please wake up.”

“Mmph?” It’s all Steve can manage, but he squeezes Tony’s hand in his. He has no idea how long he’s been out, but Tony’s frantic face is beside his, and he has to say _something,_ reassure him everything would be okay soon enough. 

It’s worth it for the relief that washes over Tony’s face.

“ _Don’t_ scare me like that, Rogers.” Steve knows he’s serious when he invokes the last name. 

He squeezes Tony’s hand again. “Deal.”

**

“Hi, sweetheart, long day?” Steve’s heard Tony use plenty of pet names since they’ve been together, but it’s taken him a while to decide which one felt right, which one felt like _Tony._

It comes to him one day when Tony gets home after working late, his face drawn and his eyes heavy in a way that made Steve want to hug him. It rolls off his tongue so naturally that Steve knows he’s finally found the perfect thing. 

Tony freezes, but when he turns to Steve, his eyes are softer, and Steve’s delighted to find his cheeks tinged the faintest shade of pink. 

“I… uh. Yeah, just… long. Glad to be home.”

“Glad to have you home, sweetheart,” Steve says, drawing Tony in for a hug. He laughs when Tony presses his face into his shoulder at the endearment. 

“Are you…are we…since when is that a thing?” Tony’s question is muffled, spoken into the fabric of Steve’s t-shirt. 

Steve pauses, smiling. “Doesn’t have to be.” 

“No, no, far be it from me to stop you.” 

Tony’s face is well past pink when he finally meets Steve’s gaze again, though he ducks back down into Steve’s chest when he kisses him and says, simply, “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”


	46. take care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after a rough battle, tony takes care of steve

“You scared the shit out of me out there, you know that, right?”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but before he can get the words out Tony holds up a hand. “ _Don’t_. Don’t tell me you can take care of yourself. I know you can, but we’re a team, right? We’re supposed to be a team. All of us, yeah, but _you and I are a team,_ Steve. Then you run into things like you have no _idea_ how important you are and I just…” Tony stops, pressing his lips together in a firm line, at a loss for words. 

Tony’s _always_ cared about Steve, even when he had no right to care as much as he did. And Steve had cared about him, too, long before they got together. The level of regard for each other, as partners in every sense of the word, ran deep, and it went both ways. At least Tony thought it did, until he finds himself face to face with Steve after a moment like they’d had today out in the field. Completely in sync until they weren’t, Steve flipping himself off the hood of a car and into a collapsing building without a word to Tony or anyone else.

_Stupid. Reckless._

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I mean it. If you did what I did…”

“There’d be a lot more yelling,” Tony finishes dryly. 

“I don’t _yell_ , Tony.”

“You explain yourself loudly and passionately then.”

Steve pauses then blows out a breath. “Yeah, okay. Well, I am sorry, for what it’s worth. And if it helps, I’ll be paying the price for a few days.” He gestures with a wince to the bruises along his side, as if _that_ would make Tony feel better.

“It really doesn’t. What _will_ help is you relaxing for the rest of the weekend, okay? That mean _actually_ relaxing, not doing paperwork in bed instead of at a desk.”

Steve gives him a smile, it’s small and tired, but it meets his eyes. “I can do that,” he agrees. 

“I think a long hot bath might do some good for your old bones, darling. I’ve been meaning to try out that fancy bath oil I picked up, and who better to help me?”

“That might be nice,” Steve admits. 

“ _Kittens_ are _nice_ , Steven, this is luxury.” 

Steve laughs and the sound is sweet, a balm over the stress of the day, and Tony really can’t stay mad at him. He crosses the room and sits himself down carefully in Steve’s lap, callused fingers tracing the bruises gently, making a mental map of everything that hurts and willing it away. Next, Tony winds his arms around Steve’s neck, tucking his face right into the crook of Steve’s shoulder and breathing deeply. “M’just glad you’re okay,” Tony confesses. It’s easier like this. 

He feels Steve take a deep breath then wrap his arms around Tony’s middle, pulling him in. They sit like that for a minute, just quiet. 

“You said something about a bath?” Steve says finally, a question, an olive branch. 

“Bath first, then dinner, whatever you want. And then _bed,_ ” Tony says firmly.

Steve squeezes Tony’s hand. “Lead the way.”


	47. july fourth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve's birthday celebration continues after the guests have gone home

When the last of the guests trickle out, Tony watches Steve heave himself into one of the oversized lawn chairs up on the roof with a quiet, contented sigh. There’s plenty to do, things to clean up, bottles to empty and food to toss out, but with the echoes of fireworks in the distance and the glimmer of stars against the darkening summer sky, Tony decides that they can deal with all of those things later. Tomorrow, even. Right now, Steve leans back against the red plastic chair and lets his head roll to the side, smiling at Tony, soft and slow. 

“Hi,” Steve says. With the party going on all night, music playing and people coming and going, they hadn’t had a moment alone since before their guests arrived. It’s like coming home, in a way, even though they’d never left. 

“Hi yourself,” Tony replies. He can’t help the smile that works its way over his lips as he looks at his husband in repose like this. “Did you have a nice birthday, darling?” 

Tony walks around the empty tables, wandering until he finds what he’s looking for: an unopened bottle of wine and some glasses. He holds them out to Steve, triumphant. 

“I did,” Steve nods. “Is it terrible of me to say this is the best part, though?” He gestures to the empty rooftop. The night is warm without being sticky with humidity, and the lingering sounds of the city below feel endlessly far away. Right now, it’s just the two of them, and the remaining minutes of Steve’s birthday. “It’s so nice out. And weirdly quiet, for July fourth. Even when I was a kid, we were running around, making a racket until all hours. When I was well enough to do it, that is.”

Tony works the cork out of the bottle and pours two glasses, shaking his head. “It’s your birthday, Steven,” he says. “Whatever you say goes.” He makes his way back to Steve’s chair, hands him a glass, then settles himself in his lap with a soft sigh of his own. _This_ is _the best part_ , Tony thinks. 

Overhead, fireworks boom once more, bright reds and blues, huge and glimmering and then gone just like that, leaving nothing but a smoky, acrid smell in their wake, the smell of summer.

“Oh, well then in _that_ case,” Steve says, voice teasing, “I wish it was my birthday _every_ day.” 

Tony laughs, shaking his head. “I let you win sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Steve agrees. 

“Hey, happy birthday, baby.” Tony lifts his glass, holds it out to clink against Steve’s, and takes a sip.

“Thanks, Tony.” Steve’s voice is softer now, and he looks so genuinely happy and _young_ out here, a regular twenty-something on a roof on a gorgeous summer night, that Tony’s heart gives a little squeeze at how much he loves him. 

He sets his glass down beside him and wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders, sliding a thumb down the smooth slope of his jaw. They stay that way for a minute before Tony tilts Steve’s mouth toward his and brings their lips together. It’s slow, languid and sweet as wine, and they’re both a little breathless when they pull away. 

More fireworks crack overhead. Steve presses his forehead to Tony’s. “Definitely the best part,” he confirms, kissing him again.


	48. secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> steve and tony do a terrible job of keeping their relationship a secret. or: they don't know we know they know we know.

“Do they really think we don’t see them?” Bruce asks, turning to Thor, incredulous.

“Certainly, they think they are _very smart indeed_ ,” Thor says, laughing. 

“A certified genius and a master tactician and they think we can’t see them behind an average-sized menu,” Bruce groans, shaking his head. “Maybe we should get our milkshakes to go, make them think they did a good job.”

Thor shakes his head, adamant. “This is _much_ more fun,” he says, pulling over a menu of his own and studying it. 

Bruce sighs. He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like being in the middle of things, or lying, or sneaking around, honestly, but he does want a milkshake, and they are already at the diner, so he sinks down beside Thor, and explains that _black and white_ just means chocolate and vanilla. 

“Why not just call it that, then?”

“I don’t know, why don’t Steve and Tony just call each other boyfriends and call it a day?”

“Fair point. Fair point.”

*

Clint almost walks into Natasha when she comes to a sudden stop on their walk to the gym.

“Ouch! _What_ are you—” He starts, then freezes when Nat whirls around, a finger pressed to her lips. 

“Shh!”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Use your words, I’m begging,” he whispers.

“Someone’s down here,” Nat says, gesturing around the corner. She raises her eyebrows in such a way that lets Clint know she must mean Steve and Tony. They’ve been sneaking around like kids avoiding parents, and not doing a very good job of it. 

“They live with two spies, certainly they don’t think they can just—”

“ _SHH!_ ” She peers around the corner, then looks back at him and nods, confirming what they already know.

Personally, Clint thought Nat’s shushing was louder than he was being, but hey. He’s biased. 

“Anyway, _Clint,_ you ready to spar?” Natasha says, voice raised.

There’s a distinct shuffling of feet followed by the slam of a door, and then they’re alone again. 

“Who makes out in a _gym?”_ Clint asks, nose wrinkled. 

“People who think they’re being convincing about all the time they spend _training_ together,” Nat says. 

“I can’t believe we just let them go.”

“Well, I figure they’re bound to get themselves caught soon enough,” Nat rationalizes. 

Clint can’t argue there.

*

“You plan on telling your boy we all already know about him and Tony?” Sam asks Bucky one morning when they’re finishing up a run. 

They walk into and immediately out of a Starbucks after spotting Steve in line with Tony, his arms wrapped around his waist, head resting on Tony’s shoulder while they waited. For two people trying not to get caught, they certainly didn’t seem to be trying too hard to keep things under wraps. 

“It’s a pretty far Starbucks,” Bucky defends. 

“Far from _what?_ The one down the street?” Sam rolls his eyes and laughs. “Either way, I need to find another one. Preferably without our team leaders canoodling inside of it.”

“They’re happy,” Bucky says with a shrug. 

“They’re out of their minds is what they are.”

They make their way to another Starbucks, one safely away from Steve and Tony and the canoodling. Bucky could agree that they were being pretty careless, but who was he to be the one to break that news to them? They really _do_ look happy.

He buys Sam’s coffee for his trouble. He’d talk to Steve one of these days, and maybe he’d just confide in him about the situation, ending the whole thing. 

Bucky almost laughs to himself. A guy could dream. 

*

It comes to a head during a movie night, of course. There’s only two spots left when Steve and Thor walk into the living room: One next to Nat on the floor, and one next to Tony on the love seat. Steve doesn’t think twice before heading towards Tony, and Thor all but runs to beat him to it, settling himself in next to Tony and beaming up at Steve, who is doing a very good impression of a fish, his mouth opening and closing in quiet disbelief.

“There’s room right here, Cap,” Nat offers, patting the floor next to her. 

To his credit, Steve tries to collect himself, hide his obvious disappointment, but not before looking over at Tony and essentially pouting. 

“Something wrong?” Thor asks, his voice booming. “There’s plenty of space. Unless you wanted to sit here for some reason?” He looks at Steve innocently, awaiting his reaction. 

“Oh. Uh, no. No, that’s, I mean, that’s silly, there’s plenty of room right there,” Steve says, face flushing. Still, he doesn’t move. Instead, he shoots another glance at Tony, who seems to notice, all at once, the knowing looks everyone is exchanging. 

“Steve, sweetheart, relax. They’re officially onto us,” Tony says, smirking. 

“Onto you? But you’ve done such a _good job_ sneaking around,” Nat says, blinking up at them in faux disbelief.

Tony rolls his eyes. “We probably could’ve tried a little harder,” he admits. “Though after a while it was fun watching you guys run away from us.”

“You _knew?_ ” Bruce looks appalled.

“Technically,” Steve says, smiling now. “But it _was_ very nice of you at the time. Until now, that is.”

“Yeah, _Thor.”_

 _“_ So,” Steve says, pointing to the seat beside Tony. “Can I…”

Before Thor can respond, Tony pulls Steve down so he’s on his lap, both of them laughing. 

“Oh god,” Clint says. “I take it back, I liked the sneaking around better if this is what’s in store!”

“Too late!” Tony says, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Cat’s outta the bag.”


	49. domestic bliss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony gets a stomachache after a milkshake and steve cuddles him

“If you say _I told you so_ I’m asking for a divorce,” Tony groans, throwing himself onto the bed. He toes off his shoes like an after thought, letting them tumble to the ground without a care in the world, like they didn’t cost a few thousand dollars at least. Steve watches them fall with a wince. 

“Well, what if I say no?” Steve asks, amused. He removes his own shoes and places all four of them in the closet. “Since you’re _asking_ for a divorce, does that mean I can say no? And besides, I _did_ warn you tonight…”

“Divorce!” Tony’s yelp is less threatening than he probably thinks, given that it’s half muffled into a pillow. Steve shakes his head. 

“I don’t think so. You love me too much, sweetheart.”

There’s silence for a beat, then more words lost to the bed sheets.

“I’ll take that as an acknowledgement of your undying love for your husband,” Steve offers. He slips out of his jeans and t-shirt and into a pair of loose-fitting pajama pants, not bothering with a shirt. Really, it’s Tony who should be changing, unburdening himself from the day’s work clothes, the shirt and tie and belted pants all constricting him. Steve knows from past experiences, though, that the drama outweighs the logic in times like this. 

“Fine, I love you, now please…” 

Steve settles himself on the bed beside his husband, gesturing to his chest, an unspoken invitation for Tony to make himself comfortable against him. 

“I’m dying,” Tony complains, just like he always does when he convinces himself a milkshake is a good idea. There’s an ice cream stand they always pass on their walk home in the evenings, and he can usually resist. Today though, there was no stopping him, and now here they are. Tony wrapping himself around Steve, moaning unintelligibly, and not in the good way. 

“You’re not.” He runs a hand over Tony’s stomach, letting it come to rest just over his chest. “You’re impossible, and probably lactose intolerant, but you’re not dying.” He drops a kiss to the top of Tony’s head. 

“ _Probably_ being the operative word,” Tony says, despite the fact that he’s quite obviously in pain. “It could be something else. Maybe I have food poisoning from lunch at the board meeting. Wouldn’t that be something? Maybe I can skip the next one… And the one after that…” 

Steve laughs, he can’t help it. “I don’t think that’s what this is, Tony.”

“Fine, fine. No more milkshakes. For a _while_.” He sighs heavily, tucking his face against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve strokes a hand through Tony’s hair, softening as his eyes fall shut. He knows they’ll be doing the same thing in a month or two, the next time Tony has a bad day and decides that the answer is a thick chocolate milkshake. They might even have the same silly argument about it. But Steve doesn’t mind, not really, not with Tony pressed in close, falling asleep slowly but surely.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Steve acquiesces. 


	50. headache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tony has a headache and steve cuddles him

Steve looks at the crease that settles between Tony’s eyebrows and frowns. He’s been working most of the afternoon, reworking designs for a new suit for Peter, and if that crease is anything to go by, his head is probably starting to throb right around now, a combination of too much time squinting at a screen, not enough water, and way too much coffee all morning.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly, leaning in the doorway and smiling fondly at the way Tony’s eyes soften when they meet his.

“Hey yourself,” Tony replies, setting his tablet down and grimacing. Definitely a headache brewing, then, Steve confirms.

“You look like you could use a break.” Steve crosses the room and holds out a hand. “And some fresh air?” Tony’s most recent project had been a hammock, big enough to hold them both, tucked into a corner of the yard that was the perfect combination of sunny and shady, depending on the time of day. The sun would be setting soon, making it the perfect evening escape.

It’s not lost on Steve how spoiled he’s gotten these last few years of retirement. They used to go weeks without seeing each other, depending on their respective missions and schedules. It was painful, but they made it work. Now, a few hours in separate rooms is enough to make Steve miss his husband like a limb.

“Yeah, actually,” Tony says, letting Steve pull him up off the couch. He wraps his arms around him, letting his head rest against Steve’s shoulder for a long few seconds. “And Advil, probably,” he adds.

Steve nods. “Water, too.”

Advil secured, Steve presses a granola bar into Tony’s hand, pours them both glasses of ice water, and leads them out to the backyard. It’s the perfect summer evening, the sun melting pink and orange stripes over the sky, cicadas screeching distantly all around them. Someone, somewhere had lit a bonfire, the smoky scent making its way through the neighborhood.

Perfect.

Steve settles himself into the hammock, then holds out a hand to Tony once more, smiling as Tony lays himself down beside him, though he’s laying more on Steve’s chest than anything else.

“Comfy?” Steve asks, letting a hand drift into Tony’s hair, stroking absently.

“Very,” Tony nods, eyes slipping closed. “But if you keep that up I’ll fall asleep just like this.”

Steve laughs, pressing a kiss to Tony’s shoulder, then another to the top of his head. “Yeah, and?”

Tony blinks his eyes open. “Was this all part of some master plan to get me to nap, Mr. Rogers-Stark?”

Steve strokes a thumb along Tony’s cheekbone, not bothering to hid his smile. “That depends,” he says. “It is working?”

“Maybe,” Tony mutters, but his eyes are already closing, his body relaxing into Steve’s as the rest of the daylight slips away.


End file.
